


even if it kills me

by thatdarkhairedgirl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Death, Character Study, F/M, Family Drama, Gen, Marriage, Muggle/Wizard Relations, Post-War, Pregnancy, Rebuilding, Recovery, Sirius Black's Flying Motorbike
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-04
Updated: 2011-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-10 22:36:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 28,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1165395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatdarkhairedgirl/pseuds/thatdarkhairedgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes Percy Weasley twelve years to pick up the pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**I**

 

When she comes back – comes _home_ – from Azkaban, Penelope is unbelievably _thin_.

She’s skeletal. Emaciated. Gaunt. All the former inmates look like that, but it still shakes Percy to the core when he sees her in the hospital after all the prisoners are liberated. He takes her to her parent’s place out in Clapham once she gets released, and her parents cry and her brother laughs and her brother’s wife goes into labor. They trek to the hospital in a large group, spinster aunts and distant cousins practically crawling out of the woodwork to meet them there, but Penelope stays behind and Percy stays with her. He makes her some soup and they wind up falling asleep on her childhood bed before anyone realizes that they’re not with them. He cries into her hair as she sleeps, thinking of Fred and his family and the fact that he could not help her at all while the government he trusted locked her away, but when she wakes up she smiles at him and it feels like everything will be alright, if only for a little while.

And Penelope _seems_ happy enough. She sits with her family, her brother’s newborn daughter held up to her bony shoulder, smiling with her mouth but not with her eyes. She laughs at the programs on the Wireless until the laughter turns into horrible, racking coughs. She eats all of her favorite foods, but carefully – too much too quickly and she gets sick. She sings as she helps Percy clean his apartment, but she doesn’t dance anymore – she tires too easily. She has trouble remembering parts of her life that came before Azkaban, and more than once he’d caught her checking her diary for the answers. Percy finds himself repeating his questions more than once, because Penny is too far away in her head to hear them the first time.

He loves her – he’s _always_ loved her – but he can’t help but wonder if his Penelope, the one who quoted Henley and Keats and could eat an entire box of macaroni and cheese in one sitting, is still somewhere in Azkaban.

 

**I ½**

 

He comes home one evening after a particularly rough day at the Ministry, completely expecting Penny to have dinner on the table and ready to lend him a sympathetic ear while he recounts Dolores Umbridge’s trial by the Wizengamot. Or, perhaps, to even be waiting for him in their bedroom, her hair loose around her shoulders and wearing that silly pink nightdress he loves so much. Percy turns his key in the lock, his heart beating a little faster than it was as he thinks about what could be on the other side of the door, but nothing could have prepared him for what he finds.

Penelope is curled up on their couch in her pajamas, her knees pulled up to her chest and her eyes red from crying. Her mother sits next to her, brushing her hair back and pressing a cool cloth to her daughter’s forehead, while Justin Finch-Fletchley leans against the doorway leading into the kitchen with the telephone cradled against his ear. He opens his mouth as of to speak, but when he catches sight of Percy he mutters a quick “good-bye” into the mouthpiece and hangs it back up.

“She had a miscarriage,” Justin says quietly, taking Percy by his elbow and leading him into the bedroom. “The Healer says that it was a slim chance that she’d be able to carry the baby to term in the first place, but the fact that she was even able to get pregnant is reason enough to celebrate.”  
Percy sputters and stammers in response; he didn’t even know that his fiancée was carrying his child, and he has to find out like _this?_

“She didn’t want to tell you until she was further along,” Justin says, answering the question before Percy can even put his words together. “She...she wanted it to be a surprise.”

He gives Percy a weak smile, and for the first time, Percy sees just how young Justin really is under all the lines he gained from Azkaban. Justin clasps his shoulder gently, offering what little comfort he can before they head back into the sitting room. Percy drops to his knees when he approaches Penelope, and when she once again burst into tears he holds her as tightly as he can without hurting her small, brittle body.

He has no intention of ever letting her go.


	2. Two

**II**

 

They have a small wedding – well, it’s as small a wedding as they can have, with all of their friends and families crowding into the small Anglican church to celebrate. They dance together once, mostly because it is tradition for the bride and groom to open the festivities, and she dances with her father and her brother and with a grinning Justin Finch-Fletchley before she has to sit at their table on the dais, worn out and out of breath.

But Percy doesn’t need to dance to enjoy this moment; he is content to sit beside her and watch the festivities unfold before them, and to thank their guests for their warm wishes when they come up to greet them. Penny beams up at each one from her chair, her honey-blonde hair curling around her face like an angel’s halo, but Percy seems to be the only person to see the way her face tightens with each new visitor. She’s getting tired, but to her credit she is trying her best not to show it, and he gently squeezes her hand under the table as Aunt Muriel hobbles up to greet – criticize, more like – the new couple.

When their reception finally ends and they climb the winding staircase to the catcalls of their respective brothers, Percy carries her into the honeymoon suite only to find that their hotel room is buried under layers of flowers and candles and a large, flashing _“Congratulations!”_ banner that spurts out copious amounts glitter and confetti every few minutes. She laughs as they examine the gifts and tricks left by their friends and family, glitter sparkling in her unruly curls, and for some strange reason, he can’t imagine that this really is his life.

Percy isn’t Charlie, or Bill, or George or Fred or even _Ron_ when it comes to the _“art of seduction.”_ Percy isn’t handsome or charming; he’s uptight and tense, takes far too much satisfaction in being right, and sulks when he’s wrong. He knows that Penny could find better men than him – that she _deserves_ a better man than him – but thinking about what not being with her just makes him shudder. Penelope turns to him then, the sparkles in her hair catching the candlelight, and she’s kissing him and his shirt is unbuttoned and her dress is gone and he’s pressing her against the soft wide mattress and although they’ve done all this before, it feels different. Permanent. Better.

She has a bruise on her thigh, fresh and turning a vague shade of purple that makes her wince when he brushes his fingers against it, and she tells him that she was careless as she dressed earlier; bumping into the sharp corner of an end table as she attempted to climb solo into the mountain of tulle and satin that was her wedding dress.

She was Penelope Clearwater when she got it, and the fact that she is now Penelope _Weasley_ makes his head spin, but it’s a _good_ kind of feeling, one that Percy hopes will last.

 

**II ½**

 

The next morning, and a few after that, Penelope wakes up with bruises.

Some of them are practically the size of bludgers, a veritable rainbow of purples, blues, and sickly yellows marring the creamy skin of her back, her legs, her breasts; there’s a bluish set on her hips that are perfectly shaped like Percy’s wide hands, right down to the fingertips.

“Don’t worry, darling,” she laughs when she realizes why his hands have lingered on her side for far too long, pulling the silk sheet around her body to cover herself as she climbs out of the hotel bed. “It’s nothing important. I don’t even feel them half the time, and even then they’re just a little ugly to look at, nothing more.”

“There’s nothing ugly about you,” Percy says, sitting up in the bed and squinting blindly at the blurry figure standing by the dresser that he assumes is his wife. “Not a single thing.”

Penelope smiles then, wide and bright and real, and before he knows it she’s back in bed with him and any thoughts Percy had of leaving are soon forgotten. He holds her afterwards when she drifts off to sleep; her head resting on his chest and her breathing slow and even. He is careful not to put too much pressure onto the place where his arm rests against the bare skin of her back, lest she wake up with yet another space of damaged flesh to remember their honeymoon by.

 _She’s so frail_ , he thinks as she burrows herself closer into the warm pocket of heat his body provides. _She’s brittle and breakable and ohgod ohgod ohgod I just don’t want to hurt her again._


	3. Three

**III**

 

It isn’t a social change anymore: The “War on Muggleborns” is turning political, and despite her campaigns for Creature Rights from within the Ministry, Hermione Granger is at the forefront. “They call themselves the Pureblood Restoration Party,” she says over tea with Penelope one afternoon. “They want things to go back to the way they were, before Voldemort came onto the scene and the Purebloods were still in charge.”

Penelope nods and Percy goes back into the kitchen for more biscuits. Penelope likes the buttery little things, and even though he thinks that they’re far too sweet they seem to be the only thing she wants these days. At least she’s eating.

“What do you want me to do?” she asks, her voice following him as he piles a few more ginger newts onto the plate.

“I know you managed to keep your diary with you when you…when you were in prison,” Hermione says. “Justin told me. He…he told me a lot of things, actually.”

“They’re all true, you know. There’s no way someone could make any of it up…it’s all too horrible to be a hoax.”

“I know, Penny. I _know_. But you see, not everyone believes what went on in there. We have information from the Death Eaters still in custody, and Aurors at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement have found records and photographs that document what they – what they did to the prisoners, but it isn’t enough. It’s just facts, Penny. There’s no emotion to it.”

Penny is quiet as Percy comes back into their sitting room, plate in hand.

“You want me to publish my diary, don’t you?”

Hermione fidgets in her seat, and Penelope takes a bite out of a biscuit.

“Yes.”

Penny watches Hermione calmly for a few moments, and then stands to shake her hand. She struggles at first, the weight of her six-month pregnant belly causing her to tip precariously as pulls herself out of her chair, but she eventually finds her center of balance and manages to stand, tall and straight and proud.

“I’ll do it, but I want a picture of me from my Hogwarts years on the cover, from back when I was a beauty queen.”

Hermione grins and hugs her tightly. “It’s a deal.”

 

**III½**

 

He doesn’t exactly know why he’s here.

All he knows is that he is a man on a mission, and by Jove, he is going to get this _done_.

Percy strides into Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes with his head held high, walking straight into the back office despite the fact that Verity, George’s favorite shop girl, keeps tugging on his arm and making agitated noises as she tries to pull him back into the main part of the store. George, sitting at his desk with a quill in his hand, doesn’t even look up from his paperwork when he waves the pretty blonde away, and Verity glowers at them both as she goes back to the front counter.

“What’s up, Perce?” George asks, the sound of the quill scratching numbers into the parchment incredibly loud in the small back office. “It’s not like you to take off in the middle of the day.” 

Percy mumbles some excuse, then, about he needs a reason to visit his brother, and even though George chuckles at the fidgeting, nervous form of his older brother, Percy knows that his heart really isn’t in it.

“What’s going on? If you don’t have a reason, I’ll have Verity escort you off the premises, and believe me: she’s got an itchy wand when it comes to stuff like that. I don’t even need to deal with shoplifters anymore – they’re all too scared of her to come in. Now seriously…what do you want?”

“Penny’s pregnant –” Percy starts, but George cuts him off.

“I know. You told everyone at Sunday Dinner last week.”

“But –”

“You also told me at that lunch we had last Tuesday. And at that dinner party Ron and Hermione had me to on Saturday.”

“Wait –”

“ _And_ , you even managed to mention it in that order you sent me for the Auror Department’s _shield cloaks!_ ”

“George!” he splutters, the tips of his ears turning bright red. “Would you just, just _stop_ for one second and listen to me?” 

George leans back in his chair and gives his older brother an appraising look. There’s a hint of a smirk turning up the corner of his mouth and with the way his head is tilted, Percy can pretend that his brother has both his ears and that another brother is hiding just outside the door. 

“Penny’s pregnant –” 

“– I believe you’ve mentioned that already –” 

“– and if it’s a girl, we’re going to call her ‘Pamela.’” 

George rolls his eyes. “That’s nice, keeping a 'P' sequence going between the three of you. I don’t see what any of this has to do with me.” 

“If it’s a boy, we,” Percy takes a deep breath, “ _We_ want to name him after Fred.” 

That does it. George’s smile falters and he leans forward in his chair, brown eyes never moving from Percy’s face. “Why…why would you want to do that?” he asks quietly, his voice strained and sounding as if he has just been punched in the stomach. “Why would _you_ want to do that?” 

“He was my brother too, George. Why wouldn’t I want to honor him through my son?” 

George is deathly pale as he stares up at Percy, and when he says, “This was your idea, then? Not Penelope’s?”, Percy knows that there is no longer any need to lie. 

“It was.” 

“George, I know how you must be feeling right now, and –” 

“Stop it, okay!? Stop it! You don’t know how I feel! You don’t know what it’s like!” George shouts, slamming his fists on the table. The quill in his hand cracks in half. He rises quickly from his seat and stares at Percy like a bull staring down the matador. He moves as if he’s going to lunge towards Percy – even raising his fist in such a threatening manner that Percy can’t help but flinch – but he punches the wall next to him instead and falls down to the floor. Tears roll down his cheeks, and Percy reaches forward with awkward hands, resting them on his shoulders as he sinks to the floor to sit beside him. He is gentle and cautious at first, but when George grabs him and pulls him close – like he is afraid of losing Percy, too – he rocks his little brother in the crook of his arms and knows that the last thing he wants to do is let go. 


	4. Four

**IV**

 

The last few months of her pregnancy are hard for Penelope; she has almost no strength, and the Healer taking care of her and the baby orders her on bed rest for her last trimester. She stays propped up on pillows most of the time, heavy blankets protecting her from the winter cold and the typed-up papers from her diary scattered across the bed as she organizes them for the publisher. This is her fourth pregnancy in almost as many years, and the only one to have made it this far along, and neither she nor Percy want to take any chances that might put her and the baby at risk.  
Justin is almost always right there with her, keeping her comfortable and feeding her actual food (not just ginger newts) and helping her edit her work. Percy supposes that if he were another sort of man, he would be jealous that Justin is spending so much time with his wife, but he knows what the two of them went through together and he wouldn’t deny her this almost-brother she gained in prison.

She goes into labor early on a January morning, just as Justin’s arriving and Percy’s leaving for work. Justin goes out to alert their families, while Percy scoops her up and they take the Floo to St. Mungo’s. All the while, Penelope is filled with some sort of remorse that he can’t bring himself to understand.

“I’m sorry, Percy,” she apologizes, again and again and again. “You’re going to miss work because of me. I’m sorry, Percy, I’m sorry…”

He doesn’t say much, other than the same comforting phrases that he repeats over and over again each time a contraction comes – _you’re fine, you’re wonderful, you’re doing great, Penny darling, deep breaths, now, deep breaths_ – and she crushes his hand in hers rather than scream, because it hurts hurts _hurts_ and she doesn’t want to be a bother. She wants everything to be perfect, and he’s afraid that she’s going to be split in two pieces; that her frail little body won’t be able to handle this kind of pain anymore and he’ll lose her again.

The Healers hover around Penny and monitor everything from his wife’s breathing to the baby’s heartbeat to the temperature of their room in the Maternity Ward. They urge her to _push_ one last time and she does, but no anguished infant wail greets their ears when the Healer holds up their child.

“It’s a boy!” one witch says cheerfully, wiping Penelope’s forehead with a damp cloth as the others take their baby – their _son_ – into a corner of the room, and she lets out a panting little laugh when he whispers “Patrick!” into her ear. The Healers wave their wands over the infant, who still isn’t crying, or even moving, as far as Percy can tell.

“What’s wrong with him?” she asks. She’s gasping for breath, weak and frail and all he can do to make her feel better is squeeze her hand. His son is still being poked and prodded with wands, and the room is suddenly bathed in the red, glowing light from a spell that Percy doesn’t quite hear.

“Percy, what happened? What’s going on?” Penelope struggles to sit up, pale and breathing in short, shallow puffs that make him think arbitrarily of one of Charlie’s dragons. “Please, what _happened?_ Where is my _baby?_ ”

The Healer wraps their son in a blanket; she sighs and talks to the bundle in her arms, not Percy or Penelope. “The umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck and it…it cut off his breathing. I’m sorry, but he didn’t make it.”

Penelope lets out a strangled sob as the Healer takes their son into the next room – their blue, not-breathing son that has a smattering of red hair plastered to his head – and very slowly, her eyelids begin to flutter.

“Penny?” he says, tucking her hair back behind her ear. Her face goes slack, like she’s sleeping, and Percy gently pushes her shoulder. “Penny? Penny, sweetheart, please wake up.”

She is still, silent, unresponsive. Her eyelids twitch, like going into her REM cycle, and Percy feels a hard, sinking feeling deep inside his chest. He calls to one of the Healers in the corner and they rush out into the hallway when they finally look at his unconscious wife in the hospital bed. He is pushed out of the room by the gaggle of women as a few others storm in, a huge cart of some kind in tow, and he stands in the waiting room for hours with their families, pacing back and forth and waiting for news. The room lets out almost a collective gasp of shock and sorrow when he tells them about his son – he sees little Patrick Frederick Weasley every time he closes his eyes, with his blue skin and red hair – and not a single person moves to leave while they wait for a any word of what’s going on, even though Victoire and Teddy are both too young to stay out this late and start to fuss.

A Healer approaches them all a little after midnight, blood spattered across his robes and his eyes downcast as he asks for Percy Weasley to step forward.

“Is she alright?” Percy asks, his insides shaking with fear. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knows that none of this will end well

“Mr. Weasley, I’m Healer Clyde. I’m one of the Healers who worked on Penelope, and I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but your wife died on the operating table. We did everything we could to save her, but it wasn’t enough…I’m sorry for your loss, I really am.”

He reaches out and awkwardly pats Percy on the shoulder, but he doesn’t react. Percy stares stupidly at the Healer before him for what seems like ages, the words “your wife is dead” finally sinking in.

He moves like lightning, one moment still and stoic and the next quick and rabid, suddenly holding the Healer three feet above the ground by the collar of his lime green robes and just shaking him as hard as he possibly can. Bill and Charlie and Justin rush forth, Bill and Charlie grabbing Percy as Justin pulls Clyde out of his reach.

“What’s _wrong_ with you?!” Clyde shouts as Justin lets him go. “What the fucking _fuck_ is _wrong_ with you?!”

“You’re lying!” Percy shouts, struggling against Charlie and Bill. “You’re lying to me!”

“What happened?” Justin asks, white as a sheet. “What happened in there?”

“She had a cerebral embolism.”

“An embo- _what?_ ”

Healer Clyde sighs and addresses Justin, not the still-squirming Percy. “A blood clot formed in either her legs or her pelvis while she was in labor, and it moved into her brain and cut off the blood supply. It’s rare, but it can happen, and with the state her body was in, I’m not surprised.”

“But, but we’re _wizards!_ ” Percy says incredulously, finally pulling himself out of the vice-like grip his older brothers had on him. “We have _magic_ , we, there’s got to be something, anything –!”

“Magic can’t fix everything, Mr. Weasley,” Clyde says coolly, straightening his robes as he does so. “Sometimes, people _die_. Now, I’m _sorry_ for your loss, I really am, but there is _nothing_ we can do for her.”

The silence that follows seems to ring in everyone’s ears, and it the words themselves seem to be muffled and a little unreal. There is only the maternity ward with its white walls and wide hallways, and time seems to hang suspended for a moment: Victoire’s infant babbling is hushed in a quick stream of French by Fleur, Penelope’s mother buries her face in her husband’s chest, and the people who are gathered around the mess of chairs and coffee tables look numbly at each other, but it is Percy who breaks the stillness.

He slumps down into one of the rickety chairs, face buried in his hands, and somehow _that_ is the worst part of this entire mess; the desperate, helpless grief he feels –the grief of a man who has once again lost everything that he holds dear. George wraps his arms around his shoulders and this time, and it is him who holds on to his brother for dear life.

 

**IV½**

 

He goes home in the early hours of the morning, walking back to his London apartment with George and Justin on his heels and this numb, empty ache filling his chest. If he had any way with words, he might say that ache is where his heart used to be, or that it’s the feeling of his soul shattering into pieces, but Percy is no poet, so he keeps it all in his head and climbs up the stairs two at a time.

Her papers are still scattered across the unmade bed. Her shoes are still lying haphazardly in front of the closet. Her favorite book is still lying on the nightstand, the bookmark keeping the page for someone who will never look at it again.

“Percy,” George starts, reaching for his brother’s shoulder as he speaks. “Maybe you should just come back to my place, tonight. Come on, we’ll go grab a pint at the Leaky and you can crash on my couch.”

Percy ignores him and strides into the room. He kicks the shoes into the closet and picks up the papers on the bed, meticulously arranging them into a neat, orderly pile before he adjusts the sheets and blankets until they are straight and flat against the mattress. Justin and George watch him from the doorway, both exchanging worried glances with the other but neither one moving to stop Percy from his task.

“Here,” Percy says when he’s finished, pressing the meticulously organized papers into Justin’s hands. “Take them. I…I don’t want them anywhere near me right now.”

Justin doesn’t say anything in response. He can only nod – his voice caught somewhere behind the lump in his throat – and cradle the pages of Penelope’s diary in his arms like an infant, thinking of the little boy who’ll be buried beside his mother.

“Let’s go,” Percy says, his voice low and somber as he brushes past the two men in the doorway. He walks briskly out of the apartment and does not bother to stop and lock the door behind him; George pauses on the stairwell and flicks his wand in the direction of the open door, only to realize that in the short amount of time it took to do this, his brother is three floors down and almost outside the building. They do not go to The Leaky Cauldron, or The Burrow, or Shell Cottage or Grimmauld Place or anywhere else there might be family grieving this monumental loss. The three of them wander until they get lost in the vast expanse of the city, turning into two around five-thirty when Justin gets a call from Penny’s parents and Apparates to their place in Clapham.

George stays with him, though, even as they wander through rough neighborhoods and dark alleys with no real idea as to where they are going. They wind up in a park across the street from a hotel and Percy sits statue-still on a swing set, just staring at his shoes, even when a police car pulls up and asks them why they’ve been loitering in the park for three hours. George takes the policemen aside, explaining the ordeal they’ve been through, and they are let off with a warning even though they are asked to leave the park. George takes Percy by the hand and leads him down to the alleyway they’d come from, Side-Along Apparating him back to his little flat above The Wheeze and stuffing him full of gin and crackers.

Percy sleeps for a full day and a half George’s fold-out couch, and while he does not cry, the only thing he can think of is Penelope’s wheat-gold hair and her big blue eyes and how cold she was under his fingers when he saw her in the room where she died.


	5. Five

**V**

 

The bright March afternoon Dominique is born, Percy Weasley finds himself having a panic attack in the middle of the tea room in St. Mungo’s.

Up until a few minutes before it actually happened, he had been standing in the wide hallway outside the maternity ward with the rest of his family; waiting impatiently for Bill to emerge with news of the newest addition to the Weasley brood and sitting with little Victoire on his lap in the little chair-filled alcove, while the rest of the family alternates between pacing, leaning against walls, and chatting idly with each other as various Midwives and Healers walk down the hallway as if everything is right with the world.

And it’s the last part that really gets him. How can everyone act like nothing is wrong, when right over there is the room that the Healers took his son to? When there is in the room where his wife died? When Harry is sitting in the chair that he nearly collapsed in? Percy feels like he’s drowning, like he’s suffocating, like his lungs are on _fire_ and there is no way to put it out, and it scares him – really, truly _scares_ him – because he can’t _breathe_ in this room and none of his family members even seem to notice.

He stands to leave and no one says a single thing, and even though his legs seem to be shaking far too much, he manages to make it to the end of the hallway before he collapses. There’s another little alcove across from the elevators – complete with a little tea cart and a rather squashy sofa – and as he falls into the corner, shaking and sobbing and feeling for all the world like he’s going to _die_ , Percy realizes for the first time that he’s still holding Victoire.

“Don’t cry, Uncle Percy,” she says when he stares at her, goggle-eyed, wiping at his tear-streaked face with her tiny hands. “Don’t be sad.”

He smiles weakly and she beams at him, still rubbing her tiny little hands against his cheekbones in an effort to get rid of his tears, and the sheer sweetness of her gesture only makes him cry harder. He holds her close and she wraps her arms around his neck; and all he can think of as he holds this borrowed child is of just how _unfair_ everything is.

It’s George and Ron that find him, cowering in the corner between the drink cart and the sofa with Victoire held tight to his chest. The little girl squirms in his arms, tiredly reaching out for Ron to pick her up, but he makes no motion to let go.

“It’s a girl,” Ron says simply, gently prying the three-year-old from Percy’s grasp. “Bill wants to name her after Tonks, but Fleur thinks ‘Vulpecula’ is a ridiculous name.”

“Everyone’s worried about you,” George says, sharing a worried glance with Ron as he rests a hand on Percy’s shoulder. “Nobody knew why you left.”

“It’s a punishment,” he says solemnly, looking at George for the first time since he and Ron have approached him. Victoire yawns and rests her head against Ron’s shoulder, and George takes a seat on the edge of the sofa cushion that is closest to Percy.

“What’s a punishment?”

He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Losing Penny, losing the baby, it’s all a punishment.”

“These things happen, Percy,” George starts, moving from the edge of the sofa to sit next to him on the floor. “It’s not your fault, and you –”

“But it _is_ my fault, don’t you get it? I turned my back on my family! I gave up _everything_ I cared about, and for what – the Ministry? A couple scraps of respect from Fudge, and, and _Umbridge?_ This is what I _get_ , what I _deserve_ …George, I…I turned away from my family, and I got mine taken away in return.”

The silence that follows this revelation is practically deafening and even though he’s somehow managed to stop crying, Percy still feels like a pumpkin that’s been hollowed out at carving time; empty and worthless and dead, dead, dead. George slings an arm around his shoulders and when he motions for Ron to leave, Percy rests his head on George’s shoulder and lets out a long, shuddering breath.

“Angelina’s pregnant,” George says suddenly. Percy doesn’t move, but he can feel how tense George’s body has become next to him. “She…she and I, er, went for drinks a couple months ago, and she came by The Wheeze this morning to, ah, tell me the news.”

Percy tries to recall what little he knows of Angelina; he remembers her on a broomstick back at Hogwarts, the wry curve of her smile as she asked Penelope for her Arithmancy notes, her hand clasped in Fred’s as he led her into the Yule Ball. It’s the last memory that makes him pause.

“Do you love her?”

He glances at his brother and George’s face lights up at the question, like a spotlight has been turned on his face. “Yeah…kind of. I mean, I think I _could_.”

It’s not a perfect answer, not the declaration of true and undying love their mother used to read to them in fairy tales, but it’s _something_. George rises to his feet and holds out a hand for Percy to take, and when George moves to leave it takes him a full five minutes to realize that they aren’t heading back to the room in the maternity ward where Bill is holding his newborn daughter for all to see.

It’s just as well. Percy thinks that if he ever went back there, he might just fall into tiny, irreparable pieces.

 

**V½**

 

The night George’s children are born, Percy gets the call just after eleven, right about the time he starts clearing his paperwork from the kitchen table and his stomach rumbles as he thinks about the leftover Chinese takeaway in the cooling cupboard. When the phone rings, shattering the silence Percy has become so used to in the past year or so, he is so startled that he nearly drops his pile of papers; by the second ring his heartbeat has slowed enough that he can speak into the phone with a calm, if shaky, “ _Hello?_ ” 

The noise that answers him – and it can only be described as _noise_ , because it isn’t just a normal, everyday racket; it’s a rabid, frenzied, chaotic blend of people talking and laughing and carrying on that defies all conventional forms of noise – is so loud that he has to hold the receiver away from his ear, but even over that he can still hear George shouting, “ _Twins_ , Percy, _twins!_ I’m a father! I’m a _father!_ I’m a father of _twins!_ ” 

And Percy laughs when George tells him he’s in a phone booth in the tea room and twirls the phone cord around his fingers, listening as George describes his newborn son and daughter in full detail – the girl looks just like him, while the boy has Angelina’s eyes, with ten perfect little fingers and toes and a full set of lungs each – and Percy grins and congratulates his brother, trying not to think about why he is not celebrating at St. Mungo’s with the rest of his family.

“Percy, there’s something I want to ask you,” George says, his voice suddenly low and quiet. There’s no noise behind him anymore; Percy assumes George has closed the little door to the booth to separate himself from their family.

“Anything, George. What do you need?”

“Do…do you think that it’s right?”

“Is what right?”

There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. “The way we’re naming the kids. Angelina wants to name our daughter after one of her aunts, and I…I want to name our son after Fred.”

Percy sighs and sits down at the table, closing his eyes and rubbing his temple with the free hand that is not holding the telephone. He doesn’t keep them closed long, though; all he sees when he shuts his eyes these days is little Patrick, blue and silent in the arms of a grey, dead-eyed Penny.

“What should I do, Percy?” George asks, bringing his brother back to the present in the process. “I mean, _Merlin_ , I don’t want to upset anyone, you know? I know everyone already talks about Angie and me behind our backs –”

“– Nobody talks about you like that, George –”

“– and I don’t want to make it worse, right? People already think we’re an odd pair, and this is just going to make things worse, isn’t it?”

Percy is quiet as George goes on; counting off all the reasons and all the ways this could go wrong, and all he can think of is that afternoon he went to The Wheeze and asked George for his permission to call _his_ son ‘Fred’: of how his mouth went slack at the thought, of how he cried and how he felt in his arms and of just how _different_ everything felt – both then and now.

“George, that name is yours. Everyone has been saving it for you, and not a single person in this family is going to name their son ‘Fred’ before you do.”  
He crawls into his bed once he hangs up the phone, Penelope’s pillow held tight to his chest and his mind surprisingly blank as he drifts off into sleep. The next morning, he opens the Prophet to find a birth announcement for George and Angelina’s children – Roxanne Miranda and Frederick Fabian – and he can’t help but smile.


	6. Six

**VI**

 

The Burrow is surprisingly quiet when Percy Apparates onto the edge of the front lawn. He tilts his head to the side as he gathers his bearings, listening intently for the sound of laughter and shouting or the familiar crackles and booms from one of George’s inventions, but when he hears nothing but the wind whistling through the trees, Percy starts to feel nervous.

“Mum,” he calls once he lets himself into the front room. A fire’s sparking in the hearth and a family portrait hangs above it; one taken years ago, before the war. Fred smiles at him at he crosses by, but Percy looks away and calls out again, “Mum, where are you?” As Percy’s peering into the kitchen, he hears Molly’s footsteps as she pads down the stairs.

“Oh, hello, darling,” his mother says when she catches sight of him standing at the bottom of the landing. Surprise colors her voice, and she covers a yawn with the back of her hand. “What brings you here?”

Percy shrugs. “Not much, I guess. I, er, just wanted to see how you were.”

He unbuttons his cloak and lays it across the back of a chair, only to pick it up again at his mother’s stern glare. After putting in the closet, he turns around.

His mother’s eyes are bright. “Well, it’s a lovely surprise. Come on, have a cuppa?”

“What were you doing upstairs, Mum?” he asks as she leads him into the kitchen.

“Oh, nothing too extraordinary.” She moves her hands when she talks, pointing a wand at the kettle and starting a fire beneath it. There’s a large pot cooking on the stove, already. “I was cleaning out the attic. Mrs. Fielding down in the village is holding a yard sale, and while I was trying to see if there was anything I could spare, one thing led to another, and it felt like a good time to do a thorough cleaning.”

Percy pulls down two mugs from the cabinet. “Need any help?”

“Oh!” Molly’s bright brown eyes go wide and warm. “Only if you’d like to, Percy. There are certainly some things you’d probably like put aside for your _own_ children…some…day. Biscuits, dear?” She turns, her cheeks reddening with embarrassment as she realizes exactly what she’s said, but Percy puts a hand on her shoulder and guides her towards the chairs. He gets the biscuits himself, earning a small smile from his mother as he sets the small plate between their mugs on the table.

The kitchen smells like beef stew, hearty and warm, and it bubbles audibly in the silence of the room. Looking out the back window, Percy can see the garden, a wild riot of fall color, and his father off in the distance as he makes his way towards the tool shed.

“It’s quiet here today,” Percy remarks, studying his mother. There are new lines around her eyes, a few more grey hairs peppered through the faded red. He wonders if, like him, she feels her age weighing on her body.

“That’s typical around here these days,” Molly says with a wave of her hand. “Especially since it’s just your father and I now.”

Guilt flashes in Percy’s gut. It’s been a few months since he’s been to visit on his own, though not for lack of his mother trying.

“How’s George doing?”

Percy’s lips quirk. “Oh, you know. He’s okay. Angelina’s been in Northampton training for the next Caerphilly tryout, so he’s pretty much the same. Between Fred and Roxie and dealing with everything at the shop, he’s running himself ragged.”

“Well, that’s not good. I hope both of them know that your father and I are here to help, if he ever needs it. They both have so much on their plate already, don’t you think?”

“Well, they both seem to have a need to keep busy.”

“Very true. But what about you, dear? Are you keeping busy?”

“Trying to,” Percy admits. “Work doesn’t really give me time for a social life.”

“Oh, dear. Perhaps you should talk to Kingsley about giving you some more time off?”

He shrugs noncommittally. “I don’t actually mind it all that much, Mum. I like working for the DML. It makes me feel…I don’t know, like I’m actually doing something, you know? Something worthwhile…something other than just staring at the walls of my flat and playing ‘bounce the wine cork off the owl’.”

His mother laughs and takes a long sip of her drink, dabbing at the corners of her mouth with a napkin before she speaks. “Well, Percy, if it makes you happy, then it’s fine by me. Now,” she says, leaning forward over her mug. “Are there any new girls in your life?”

Percy studies his cooling mug of tea. “No,” he says, shaking his head. “No one new.”

A cool, dry hand touches his own. “One day, sweetheart, you’ll find someone.” She smiles and he tries to smile back, even though he knows that he had his chance at love, had his chance for a family, and he lost it all in the blink of an eye. “Now, how about you and I go up to the attic for a bit? And would you like to stay for dinner? I’m sure your father would be pleased to see you.”

After helping to clear out nearly a decade’s worth of accumulated junk and enjying a rather quiet meal with his parents – in which he all but stuffed his face with stew and his mother’s crusty, home baked bread – Percy lies on the sofa and makes an effort to finish _The Daily Prophet_ ’s gigantic crossword while his mother knits a large maroon sweater and his father reads the rest of the paper. The fire crackles and the Wireless plays and a dim yellow light fills the room while outside the window, night lays heavy over the ground.

“Do you think I could spend the night?” Percy asks, watching his father give a wide yawn. Arthur aims a pleased smile his way. “You’re always welcome to stay with us, son. There’s no need to ask.”

Percy feels a strange warmth crowd his chest at his father’s words, and the print on the page seem to dissolve before his eyes when he looks down at the crumpled newspaper in his hands.

“In the morning we’ll make a big breakfast,” his mother says, reaching over the arm of her chair and ruffling his hair affectionately. “Pancakes and bacon, maybe? How does that sound?”

Percy nods. “That sounds perfect.”

He finds an old pair of his father’s pajamas tucked away in a laundry basket and lies between the cool sheets of his childhood bed when he finally climbs the stairs. There’s a book on his nightstand that he hasn’t looked at in years – the cover says _Carrie_ , and Percy recognizes it as one of the battered Muggle paperbacks his father bought him for his eleventh birthday – but even with his glasses his eyes keep crossing and he can’t focus on the words on the page. He turns out the light and pulls the comforter up to his chin, trying to remember why he left all of this, all those years ago, as he waits for sleep to claim him.

He doesn’t have an answer.

 

**VI½**

 

The next morning, Percy Weasley wakes up not to the smell of bacon frying, or his mother’s sleepy knock at his door, or even the raucous sound and accompanying pain of one of his siblings tackling him in his bed.  
What wakes him up – and gives him a start when he looks at the alarm clock and realizes that it says four in the _afternoon_ , not the morning – is the sound of the tool shed roof collapsing in on itself.  
He leaps out of bed, racing down the stairs and not bothering to grab a cloak or a coat as he rushes out the back door, only to find his father, coughing and swearing as he stumbles out of the wreckage.

“Dad!” Percy shouts, waving his arms like a madman. “Dad! What happened?! Are you alright?”

Arthur brushes dust and plaster from his sweater as his son runs up to him, still coughing as he surveys the wreckage before him. “I’m fine,” he wheezes. “Perfectly fine. Just a miscalculation on my part, couldn’t be better!”

Percy skids to a halt, patting at his clothes for a good ten seconds before he realizes that he didn’t bring his wand with him. Arthur runs a hand through his hair as he stares at the damage, shifting the broken glass and splinters of wood that litter the grass before them with his foot and tapping his wand against the palm of his hand. He waves his wand in a wide, sweeping motion, murmuring an incantation that Percy doesn’t quite hear, and almost as if they are caught in a tiny whirlwind, pieces gather themselves up and fall back into place, wood and glass and an assortment of battered shingles settling back together and looking as if they had never been disturbed to begin with.

“Handy spell, that,” he says, shuffling his feet and finally feeling the early evening cold through the thin fabric of his pajamas. “Looks like you didn’t need my help after all.”

His father chuckles as he tucks his wand into his back pocket. “Your mother’s would have been better. Molly probably would have gotten the windows to clean themselves in the process. Percy,” he says, looking at his son with worried eyes. “Aren’t you cold? Where’s your jacket?”

“Forgot it,” Percy mumbles, ears turning red from embarrassment. “‘S worried ‘bout you.”

“Well, come inside. It should be warmer in the shed than it is out here, yeah?”

He opens the newly-repaired door and motions for Percy to follow him, and he feels the difference almost as soon as he enters. Warm and snug, his father’s workshop is practically filled to bursting with his collection of spark plugs, batteries, and an odd assortment of what Percy thinks is old cell phone parts. The previously torn posters of American and European plugs and extension cords have tacked themselves back up against the wall, and in the very center of the room sits several very rusted pieces of what he can only assume was once a motorcycle.

“Uh, Dad? What were you working on that made the shed collapse?”

His father, who has busied himself with pulling a tool box out from under the workbench, looks up and shrugs, “Oh, nothing much. Harry doesn’t want his godfather’s motorcycle back, and I’ve been trying to put it back together. Turns out, some of the additions Hagrid and I put on it the last time are a little, ah, _explosive_ if they aren’t removed in just the right order. Can you hand me that wrench, Percy? The one that’s right by that box.”

Percy absentmindedly steps towards the wrench lies on the table, only to be distracted by something else as he picks it up. There’s a framed photograph hanging above the battery-covered workbench, all nine of the Weasley clan standing in front of the Pyramids of Giza and waving at the camera. Percy steps closer and stares at his seventeen-year-old self, who is still proudly brandishing his Head Boy badge for all to see. He closes his eyes and tries to remember the pride he felt back then, tries to remember what it was like in the time before the War. The wrench is heavy in his hands.

His father’s voice cuts into his thoughts. “Percy?”

Without opening his eyes or turning around, he answers, “Yeah?”

“Can you make any sense out of this?”

“Make sense out of what?”

“This diagram. I can’t make out heads or tails about how it’s all supposed to fit back together.”

Percy opens his eyes time to look at the large cross-section of a motorbike his father holds out for him. He has to agree; the diagram is very confusing, and it doesn’t help that half the instructions are in French. “Maybe it makes more sense if you’re working with the real thing?”

Arthur turns the book back around to study it again. “Maybe,” he says, frowning. “Only one way to find out.”

“What’s that?”

“Why don’t you help me with it?” Percy raises an eyebrow, and his father sighs. “Neither one of us knows much about motorcycles, so maybe between the two of us we can figure it out.” Arthur shrugs and sheepishly turns the book over in his hands. “Y’know, two heads are better than one, and all that.”

Despite the smile that lingers on Arthur’s face, Percy can hear the twinge of doubt in his voice. His heart sinks a little in his chest as he thinks about his parents out here all alone, of his brothers and sister out of the house and starting their own lives, of all the opportunities he had to bond with his father that he turned his back on. “Of course, Dad,” he says with a smile. “I’d be happy to help.”

His father claps him on the back and grins. “Excellent! Go get dressed, and we’ll start when you come down.”

They spend the next several days in each other’s almost constant company, working on Sirius Black’s busted-up motorcycle. They wrangle through the stack of manuals in turns, one translating the puzzling diagrams with the other attempting to put all the pieces in the right order. Molly doesn’t seem to mind their lengthy absences out in the tool shed, claiming that it is nice to have some quiet during her favorite soap operas on the Wireless, although Percy can’t help but notice that there is always a tray of sandwiches waiting on the kitchen table for them when he and his father walk back up to the house.

Much of the motorcycle has rusted over the years it sat in the Weasley’s tool shed, and taking it apart proves to be sweaty, strenuous labor that Percy never thought himself capable of doing. Most nights, Percy tumbles into bed too tired to shower or change into his pajamas; most mornings he wakes up still grimy with grease and dried sweat, his arms and shoulders aching from the work he started the day before. But he wouldn’t have given up a moment of the time he spent with his father for all the hot water in the world. He spends every weekend and day off from work in the tool shed at The Burrow with his father, thinking about the different bits and pieces of engine and body and how they’ll all eventually fit together to form a perfect, purring machine.

And slowly, and maybe a little purposely, the task he started to please his father turns into an almost obsession.

Every spare moment that he has – every moment that he isn’t using to think about his work with the Magical Office of Law or his ever-expanding family or all the ‘what-ifs’ he could have had with Penelope – is devoted to learning as much as he can about motorcycles. He visits Flourish and Blott’s section on magical mechanics so many times that the staff begins to call him by name, studies diagrams of other bikes when he should be filing his paperwork, and he even searches garages in Muggle London for missing parts during the hour he should be taking his lunch break.

George teases him when he finds out why Percy has declined four invitations to dinner with him and Angelina, Ron and Bill nearly choke on their tongues laughing when they hear the news, and not a single one of his siblings can believe that he – straight-laced, fussy, rule-enforcing _Percy_ – is fixing up a motorcycle in his spare time.

Harry laughs and gives him his “blessing” when he finds out what his brother-in-law has gotten up to, Ginny offers to look up some polishing spells for the chrome once he gets the body back in usable conditions, and Charlie ribs him about it via Floo calls and owl post from Romania, asking him what he sees in machinery that he never saw before and if he freaked out the first time he got grease under his fingernails, but Percy _likes_ working on Sirius Black’s motorbike, even if it did belong to an escaped convict ( _convict-turned-hero_ , he has to keep reminding himself). He puts up with their playful taunts and voiced disbelief not only because he likes it, but because he finds that it is so unbelievably easy to lose himself in the rebuilding process that he can go for days without thinking about his wife.


	7. Seven

**VII**

 

Percy is, for the first time in a very, very long time, running late.

The winding charm he had placed on his alarm clock had worn off at some point in the night, which meant that his alarm reverted to its just-out-of-the-box settings. Household Spells have advanced pretty far, but not far enough to ensure that just-out-of-the-box alarm clocks know Percy Weasley has to be awake by seven in order to summon up the amount of enthusiasm that is necessary to get up and be at work by nine. He hasn't overslept by that much – 8:09 could hardly be considered a drastic lie-in – but it's enough to set him off-balance. He presses the Invisibility Booster he and his father installed onto his motorbike and flies to work, hoping that the brisk morning air will wake him up enough that he won’t have to drink an entire pot of coffee just to function.

After entering through the Visitor’s Entrance and rushing through the Atrium (nearly knocking over several of his fellow employees in his haste) Percy gets to the Ministry at exactly 9:26 and flashes Amir’s receptionist an apologetic smile as he hangs up his leather jacket. Suzette, who is in her mid-fifties and an unpleasant person on her best day, presses her lips together disapprovingly and rises from her seat. Percy pauses at her desk, his eyebrows raised inquisitively and his helmet tucked under his arm.

“Did Amir notice I was late?” he asks.

She makes a face. “Amir never notices anything,” she says dryly. He laughs softly, appreciatively, at what he assumes is a joke. Her expression tells him it isn't, so he stops. “You have a message from a customer,” she continues, pressing a square of the same rough, grayish paper she always writes messages on into his hand. “And the blonde one's replacement is here.” Suzette lowers herself back into her chair and picks up her romance novel.

It takes Percy a few seconds to recover from Suzette’s always-brisk delivery and take in the things she's told him. _The blonde one's replacement_. Jenna quit two months ago – right after her Wireless-personality fiancé finally bought her a ring – and Amir has been having a hard time finding an adequate replacement. Percy understands why even if Amir doesn't; the words “Magical Lawyer” don't exactly jump off the pages of _The Prophet_ ’s want-ads. But _someone_ must have been desperate enough to come in for an interview, because when Percy looks over, there's a girl sitting in the cubicle right across from his. Percy strides over towards his workspace, watching the new girl out of his peripheral vision as he sets his helmet under his chair.

“Good morning,” Percy says as he takes his seat, grasping blindly for his letter opener as a Ministry memo soars through the air and lands neatly in the wire basket he uses as an inbox. He misses the mug where the letter opener sits amongst his extra quills and knocks over the framed picture of Penelope, instead.

The new girl’s head snaps up at his words, and she fixes Percy with a shocked, wide-eyed stare that catches him a little off-guard. She looks like a girl caught going through her mother’s purse, especially with the way she reaches up with her free hand to twirl the charm that hangs on a chain around her neck.

“Er, hello.”

“I'm Percy,” he tells her. Her staring is making him feel a little self-conscious; he vaguely wonders if he has something on his face, if he cut himself shaving or missed a smear of toothpaste on his chin in his haste to get out the door and reach work on time. “Percy Weasley. I’m, er, Amir’s second-in-command around here, just so you know. I’m sure Amir’s made sure you know where everything is, but, ah, if you have any questions, I work right over here.”

He motions loosely to his desk and attempts a friendly smile. His new coworker stares at him blankly.

“Well, then, I’ve got some work to get back to…” he trails off, unsure of how to end his sentence. He and the new girl stare at each other for a few awkward moments until he turns away and opens up the latest memo from the Minister; a reminder to all staff in the DMLE that there will be a mandatory meeting between the Auror division and the Office of Magical Law, for reasons as yet undisclosed.

“I’m Audrey,” she says, right as he picks up his quill to reply.

“What?”

She smiles nervously. “Audrey. Audrey Davies,” she repeats, rising from her chair and stepping across the makeshift aisle to hold out her hand. “That's my name.”

“Oh,” Percy tries to assume a neutral expression as he shakes her hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Have you been doing this long?”

“No, I only got my certification back in August. There weren’t too many applicants this year, according to Mr. Lahiri, and it came down to either me or the Greengrass girl. It turns out,” she leans in, whispering conspiratorially, “That she’s _involved_ with _Draco Malfoy_ – you know, the Death Eater? – and I guess that the powers-that-be didn’t want someone with Death Eater ties working so closely with the Auror Department.”

Percy just nods, staring up at her and wondering how he should respond to something like _that_. Audrey chatters on – apparently deciding that because he decided to talk to her, she was going to make him regret that decision – and he smiles and nods through stories about the Advocacy training program and just how _excited_ she is to be working that he doesn’t really notice when she starts a new topic.

“Are those your kids?”

The question jerks him out of his thoughts. He chews on the inside of his cheek, wondering what she’s talking about, until he realizes that Audrey is pointing at one of the many photographs sitting by his ink bottle: Roxanne is curled up in his lap in a chair at The Burrow, tinsel caught in her dark hair, and Fred is on the floor at his feet, surrounded by wrapping paper and holding a brightly colored puffskein to his chest.

“No, those are my niece and nephew,” he says, realizing that he has taken far too long to answer. “I don’t have any children.”

“But you’re married, aren’t you?” she asks, pointing to the gold band on his left hand. “And that must be your wife right there. She’s very pretty, you know, she has very nice hair. I wish I could get mine to curl that way, but no, it just lies there – straight as a bone.”

She picks up Penelope’s photograph before he can move to stop her.

“ _‘To my dearest Percival,’_ ” she reads aloud, running a finger along the bottom of the glass as she tries to read the inscription Penelope wrote at the bottom. “ _‘Perhaps this will have to do until we meet again. Love, your Penelope.’_ Oh, that’s just so _sweet!_ ”

He snatches it back and sets it back on the desk. “ _That_ is none of your business.”

She stares at him again, her mouth open slightly, and mutters a quick apology a before turning back towards her desk. He knows that she really didn’t mean any harm by it, that it’s her first day and that she was probably just nervous about starting at the Ministry, but he doesn’t really care. He places Penelope back amongst the rest of his photographs and she smiles up at him from behind the glass. She’s seventeen, there, seventeen forever. He is only twenty-seven, but he feels unbelievably old.

For the first time, as soon as she delves back into her box of belongings, Percy _really_ looks at Audrey Davies. Her lipstick is a little too dark, her shoes a little too high, her hair wound a little too tightly against the nape of her neck. All things considered, she looks like a little girl playing dress-up in her pinstriped skirt and jacket, and Percy has to remind himself as he drums his fingers against his desk that she really is an actual, certified Advocate, and not (as he secretly suspects) a thirteen-year-old girl who got into her mother’s makeup and stepped through the wrong Floo grate.

Audrey sets a framed photograph of what he can only assume is her boyfriend onto her desk with an audible clunk, and Percy sighs and leans forward, resting his elbows on his desk and rubbing his temples. It’s going to be one of _those_ days, he just knows it.

 

**VII½**

 

Charlie shows up at the Ministry completely unannounced one afternoon in late October, moaning about how _terrible_ it must be to work indoors all day, never seeing the sun, or the snow, or getting any sort of _fresh air_ , hint, _hint_ , _**hint**_. He hoists himself onto Percy’s desk and somehow manages to scatter all of his paperwork in the process. Behind her frame, Penelope frowns.

“Ever since your handler was crazy enough to let you off that reserve, you’ve been nothing short of trouble,” Percy grumbles angrily, picking his papers up from the floor and arranging them all into a neat pile on the other end of his desk. Charlie laughs and ignores his younger brother, banging the heel of his foot against the desk like an impatient child.

“Oh, come off it, Perce, and just agree to go to lunch with me,” he sighs. “I hardly see you as it is, and I’m only off for a couple days. Just leave this and let’s go – it’ll be there for you when we get back, right in the place where you left it. I _promise_.”

“But I _can’t_ take off right now, Charlie,” Percy protests. “I’ve got a ton of work to get through, and I can’t just _leave_ and not tell anyone where I’ve gone. What if the Minister comes down, hmm? What if he needs me to explain some sort of policy to him and I’m not here to do so?”

Charlie opens his mouth to speak, but then he catches sight of Audrey Davies over in her cubicle and he grins, flashing that blinding, Quidditch-brilliance smile that charmed the pants off nearly every girl back at Hogwarts.

“Oh, _I_ see,” he says, ducking back down below the cubicle wall. “You know, you’ve got some _prime_ girl-watching real estate, baby brother!”

He laughs and claps Percy on the back. Percy winces and rubs at his neck, but Charlie doesn’t notice. He looks over at Audrey again, the wide grin fading to a small smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“She could probably cover for you, if you asked nicely.”

Percy sighs and rubs at the bridge of his nose. “I can’t ask that of the new employee. It’s unprofessional, not to mention impolite. And did I point out that it’s _completely_ inappropriate for you to be asking favors from my staff?”

“ _You_ ,” Charlie sighs, once again looking over at Audrey Davies, “Are absolutely _no_ fun.”

“Charlie, come on, _don’t_ –”

But he’s already off. Charlie hops off the desk and strides over to next cubicle, leaning against the rickety wall before tapping Audrey on the shoulder.

“Hello there, beautiful. How are you doing today?

Audrey turns and jumps a little in surprise at the sight of the muscular, tattooed man before her. “Er, I’m fine, thanks. Can I help you with anything, sir?”

“Oh, don’t call me ‘sir’ – that’s my grandfather. _You_ can call me Charlie. Now, I _hate_ to be a bother, Kitten, but I’m afraid that I’m going to need to ask you for a favor. D’you think you might be able to help me out?”

She smiles. “I think that depends on what it is you’re asking… _Charlie_.”

“Well, I’m in a little bit of a pickle, if I do say so myself. You see, I work on the Ridgebit Dragon Reserve in Romania and I’m in town only for a few days.”

“You work with _dragons?_ Oh, that must be _fascinating_.”

“It is, beautiful, it is. And normally when I come in, my brother and I usually go out for dinner, have a few laughs, drink a few pints, you know how that goes. But since I’ve barely seen him all week, I stopped by to see if my baby brother wanted to come out to lunch, and unfortunately for me, he still has plenty of paperwork that he needs to get through.”

“Oh, that’s a shame. How long are you in town for?”

“There’s the problem – I’m leaving tomorrow afternoon, and I won’t be able to get back for another three months or so. The most contact we get is through owl post, since Floo calls at the reserve are for local fireplaces only. The international rates are ridiculous, and I’m sure you know how _long_ those calls can get, what with all the handsome young gentlemen you’ve probably got calling you at all hours. Am I right?”

Audrey blushes, and Percy rolls his eyes from his place just behind the wall of his cubicle.

“Do you have a lot of work you need to get done?”

“No, I’m mostly done for the day.”

“Clever girl! Now, do you think you’d mind covering for Mr. Weasley here, just for an hour or so? _Please_ , Kitten…for my sake?”

Audrey studies him for a moment, glancing first at a beet-red Percy and then turning her gaze back to Charlie. She nods then, smiling slightly as Charlie winks at her and returns to pull Percy from his chair by the back of his robes. He cries out in surprise, and several people look over at them, but Charlie just continues marching his younger brother in the direction of the exits and muttering about how these enclosed spaces “make him nervous.”

Audrey presses a hand to her mouth to stifle her laugh, but Percy hears it all the same.


	8. Eight

**XIII**

 

The biggest trial on Percy’s caseload isn’t any of the Death Eater trials – even though the docket Amir has released in the past week has him taking point in Travers’ prosecution next month – but a suit filed by a young woman against her former employer under the claim that she was fired from her job at the Wizarding Wireless Network not because she was incompetent, but because she was a Muggleborn.

Hermione Weasley – who has recently transferred to the DMLE from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures – has made the case her own special project, and Amir has allowed her to take the lead in Joelle Dorny’s search for justice. She commandeers the conference room for the duration of the trial, and in addition to Percy and several of his co-workers Hermione brings in several of her colleagues from Muggleborns for Change. Justin Finch-Fletchley, Anthony Goldstein, and Tracey Davis become near-permanent fixtures around the office, and after awhile they blend in so well with the members of the department that it almost seems as if they had always been there.

The day the actual trial starts, Hermione has all of those working with her come in to the Ministry early and double-check that all their motions, evidence, and witness listings have been filed correctly. At three months pregnant, Hermione looks tired and wan when Percy pokes his head into her makeshift workspace to check on her, but she gives her brother-in-law a beaming smile when he tells her that everything is good to go. Joelle Dorny arrives with her fiancé amidst a flurry of last-minute owls, and Percy walks down with Hermione and the others to Courtroom Ten. Amir, Hermione, and Joelle are the only ones allowed inside while their case is presented to the Wizengamot, which leaves Percy sitting outside with a half-dozen others to stare at the door; all of them waiting for a verdict which could take hours to arrive.

“I’m sick of waiting,” Audrey says after nearly two hours have passed, pulling the clip from her bun and shaking out her hair as she speaks. It is a little long, doesn’t really go past her shoulders, but the sight of dark hair framing her face makes Percy do a double take from his seat on the bench. “Does anyone want to go up to the cafeteria with me?”

Some of the others shake their heads no, or ignore her completely, but Percy’s stomach picks that exact moment to announce its presence and before he knows what’s happening, Audrey Davies has led him to the elevator and dragged him to a booth in the center of the Ministry cafeteria. He thinks about buying food, but then he realizes that his wallet is in his jacket, which is currently hanging on the back of his desk chair. Seeing that he has no means of assuaging his stomach’s growling, Audrey smiles and gives him the half of her sandwich.

“Do you think Joelle’ll win?” she asks, taking a bite out of her half of the sandwich.

“ _Shhh!_ ” he hisses. “We can’t reveal _anything_ about the trial, not until we get the verdict!”

Looking around, he realizes that save a table several feet away from them, they are the only people in the room, and Audrey rolls her eyes in response. She flicks her wand at the table across from them and mutters a quick “ _Muffliato_ ,” and as she starts to open her mouth again Percy gently grabs her wrist.

“Are you absolutely sure they can’t hear us?”

“Don’t worry,” Audrey laughs as she shakes herself loose from his grasp. “I’ll put up a cone of silence, just to be on the safe side.” Percy gives her a curious look, and Audrey’s eyes go wide. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of _Get Smart?_ ”

Percy shakes his head, and Audrey playfully pushes his shoulder. “Really? You know…Maxwell Smart and Agent 99? The shoe phone? CONTROL versus KAOS?” She hums a few bars of a bouncy tune and when Percy shrugs his shoulders, she laughs again.

“That’s alright. I sometimes forget you people don’t always know the Muggle side of things.”

“What do you mean ‘you people’?”

Audrey blushes. “I don’t mean anything bad by it –”

“No,” he says, a little more forcefully than he means to. “I’m serious. What are you talking about?”

“You know… _Purebloods_.” 

“Purebloods?” he scoffs, “Audrey, I think you’ve got it all wrong. Not every single pureblood is like the Malfoy family. A lot of them have progressed their thinking since the end of the war.”

“Really? You’re resorting to talking about the Malfoys _already?_ ” Audrey arches an eyebrow and folds her arms across her chest. “You don’t have to be a Malfoy to be prejudiced. Half of all those supposedly ‘forward-thinking’ families still think that Muggles have the same intelligence level of a rather dimwitted owl.”

“Oh, come on. You know that’s not true.”

She sighs. “But it _is_. I met your father at a conference not too long ago, you know. He kept commenting on how _marvelous_ my wristwatch was; kept going on about how _fascinated_ he was by all the frivolous little things Muggles made without using magic. Can you believe that? Your father is a nice man, Mr. Weasley, but his belief that Muggles are backwards and somehow behind when compared to Wizards is a sorely outdated philosophy.”

He wants to say something bitter, or give her a sharp and biting rebuke for talking that way about his father, but all he can do is stare at her and say, “Do you subscribe to _Crushing Dreams Illustrated_ , or something?” 

“No,” she answers calmly. “I read _Playboy_.”

They stare at each other in silence for a moment, the only sound between them the chewing of Audrey on her apple, and not for the first time, Percy feels uncomfortable. He and Audrey have never really talked, and he doesn’t know much about her, but if she’s going to argue with him and then go so far as to insinuate that his father’s “eccentricities” are something to be _ashamed_ of, she has another thing coming. He checks his watch as obviously as he can, making a big show of not paying attention to the words coming out of her mouth, and when the large clock above the doorway strikes three, he stands up from his seat and brushes the crumbs from his shirt. 

“Well,” he starts. “I wish I could say that this was fun…” He trails off, unsure of how to end his sentence. She takes another bite of her apple and stares at him. “We should really be getting back downstairs.”

She takes her time gathering up her trash, and he could swear that she put a Burdening Charm on her shoes, with the way she’s moving so slowly. He taps his foot and checks his watch again, and he threatens to leave her and go down to the courtroom without her, but she just pulls a face and casually tosses her half-eaten apple at him.

It hits the side of his head with surprising accuracy, and she calls him a stubborn prat when they get into the elevator; but when he gets downstairs, everything is forgotten as the elevator doors open to reveal a cheering, joyful crowd. Hermione rushes up and hugs him tightly, and he isn’t sure who, but someone presses a glass of champagne into his hands as Amir leads everyone in a cheer, shouting “We won, we _won!_ ” over and over again. He sees Audrey’s face in the crowd, hugging Justin and practically glowing with happiness, and he can’t help himself.

He doesn’t plan on telling her, and he is going to ignore her as much as he can, but despite all of that…Percy forgives her for the things she said. Just this once.

 

**XIII½**

 

George Floos him on a Thursday in early August, his head popping into the hearth while Percy attempts to make the decision between tinned soup and heading over to their parent’s place for dinner. He calls out Percy’s name, catching him off-guard, and as Percy strides into the sitting room he realizes that it is far too early for George to have closed the shop, because George only uses the fireplace in his back office when he’s certain he won’t be disturbed.

“Evening, little brother,” he says as he drags his armchair closer to the fire.

Without preamble, George asks, “Have you seen Angelina anywhere?” 

Percy shakes his head. “Not since, what was it, a week ago? At Mum and Dad’s, when we all met up for Ginny’s birthday.”

“You’re sure?” George frowns, his eyes darkening with worry. “I mean, you’re absolutely _positive_ you haven’t seen her today? Or talked to her at all?”

“No, George, I haven’t. What’s going on? Is everything alright?”

It might be the flames of the fireplace playing tricks on his vision, but for a brief moment, George’s face is hollow and drawn in the shadows of the fire around him. He doesn’t tell Percy anything, just asks him if he could please come over and keep an eye on the twins, and Percy tells him he can without any hesitation.

When Percy steps through the hearth and into George’s messy back office, he half-expects to be greeted by the small-but-powerful whirlwinds that are his niece and nephew, or maybe George and Ron with one of their new inventions, or even a mildly cross Verity Bloom, who has never seemed to have forgiven Percy for slipping past the front counter on her watch, but the only living thing in the room is a brightly-colored pygmy puff in a glass terrarium on top of an overflowing filing cabinet. He leaves the empty office as carefully as he can – he’s learned the hard way not to touch certain objects strewn about George’s workspace – and when he climbs the back steps that lead to the flat above the shop, Percy finds his brother nearly wearing a hole in the floor with his pacing.

“I don’t know where she is, Perce,” George tells him once he acknowledges his brothers’ presence. “Nobody’s seen her, not her parents, not Oliver, not Verity, not any of her old teammates, Hell, not even _Katie_ has seen her, and Angelina told me that they were going shoe shopping yesterday! Katie and Angelina haven’t even _spoken_ in weeks!”

Percy tries to calm him down, but it doesn’t help. For nearly a month afterwards, Percy watches his brother nearly go out of his mind with anxiety. George puts on a brave face for Fred and Roxie, but as soon as he is out of their earshot he becomes a mess with worry, going from one emotion to the other with the quickness of a pregnant woman and driving nearly every member of both his staff and his family insane.

Really, the arrival of the divorce papers is almost a relief. The delivery does not reveal her location, even though the return address of the law firm representing her says San Francisco, California. But at least now everyone can stop worrying that Angelina had been attacked, or worse, killed by one of the Death Eaters that are still on the run.  
George has his store owl deliver them to the Ministry, and Percy locks himself in the conference room and goes through the legal wording with a figurative fine-tooth comb. The phrasing of the document is solid – ironclad, really – with the terms of the separation spelled out very clearly in black and white. Angelina doesn’t want any shares of the joke shop, or any money or possessions that weren’t already hers when they entered into this marriage, and according to the additional notes filed by her solicitor, Angelina wants this all to end as amicably as possible. The only term of the settlement that gives Percy pause is the paragraph that relates to the children; specifically, the fact that she doesn’t want them.

And that positively _baffles_ him, because who _wouldn’t_ want his niece and nephew? Who wouldn’t want to be with Fred, with his bright brown eyes and his shy little smile, or Roxanne, with her quick wit and bubbly laugh? He tries to think of any reason that Angelina wouldn’t want her own children – bad behavior, hidden disorders, infectious diseases they might be carrying thanks to the other children at their day school – but he can’t find any answer, and it makes his blood boil. Who is she to say that the marriage she willingly entered into “isn’t working”? Who is she to say that the family who welcomed her with open arms is “substandard”? Who is she to say that her own children – two of the smartest and sweetest children he has ever met – are “not worth raising”?

He needs to know where she is. He’ll make sure she gets everything she wants, alright, but if there is anything Percy is certain of it is that Angelina will i>never be able to change her mind.

He sends a message out to Justin Finch-Fletchley, who through his work with Muggleborns for Change has a lot of contacts in the Auror Department and the Department of Records. Justin arrives an hour after he gets the Owl, and Percy calls Wayne Hopkins and, as much as he'd rather ignore her, Audrey Davies into the conference room as well, in an effort to get another legal perspective on the matter before anything spirals out of control.

Wayne suggests leaving everything alone because after all, isn’t she getting everything she asks for, anyway? Audrey suggests hiring a private detective to find her, but thinking of the expense and the possibility of breaking the Statue of Secrecy that comes with hiring a Muggle, Percy waves the idea off. Justin suggests meeting with her face to face, but there are almost two dozen Magical Law offices in San Francisco alone and Percy doesn’t have the time or the money to be gallivanting across Muggle California in search of his soon-to-be-ex sister-in-law. He groans and rubs his eyes with his palms, racking his brains in a vain effort to find a way to track Angelina. _How can I find her_ , he thinks, _if she doesn’t want to be found?_

And then, it hits him like a sack of bludgers.

“Justin, if Angelina’s not in the country, couldn’t we find her using the Trace?”

The quill in Wayne’s hand pauses in its path across his parchment, and Justin looks up at Percy with wide, sharp eyes. “Jesus, I think you’re right!”

“Wait,” Audrey interrupts, “What’s this ‘Trace’ thing you’re talking about?”

“What do you mean, ‘what’s the Trace’?!” Wayne exclaims. “The Trace, the Trace, the thing the Ministry uses to track you when you’re underage so you can’t do magic!”

Audrey makes an “ah” noise and moves to say something else, but she is quickly drowned out by Justin, who has started to list off the all the people in the Department of Records who can help them in rapid succession. Justin takes the papers where Angelina has signed and grabs Wayne by the arm as he rises to leave, and the two of them take off to the Department of Records’ office in the hopes that some sort of figurative alarm bell would have gone off in her file. Percy and Audrey sit in silence when they leave, Percy silently congratulating himself as Audrey rises from her chair and begins to pace across the space between the doorway and the table.

“Mr. Weasley?” she asks suddenly.

“Yes, Audrey?”

“I have a question.” She keeps pacing, keeps wringing her hands together nervously, and the blatant anxiety in her movements is rather catching. He shifts in his seat and wishes that she would just spit her question out, already.

“What is it?”

She takes a deep breath. “The Trace, er, can it be used to track Muggles? You know…say if I had something that a Muggle had touched, could I use the Trace to find them?”

“I…I don’t think that you can, Audrey,” he says, “It can’t be put on adults, for one thing, only those under legal age.”

“But, but your sister-in-law!” she exclaims, “You’re able to find _her_ using the Trace, and _she’s_ well above the legal tracking age! How is this any different?”

“ _Because_ ,” he sighs, suddenly feeling like he’s arguing with Dominique or Roxanne when he baby-sits and they don’t want to eat their vegetables. “Angelina was already in the system. The Trace is like a, ah, magical fingerprint, I guess. When you’re a kid the people in the Improper Use of Magic Offices put a specific type of charm on you, so that they can track what kind of magical outbursts you have, but in Britain this charm is timed to expire whenever a witch or wizard is of age. Outside the country, though, a lot of these Tracking Charms restart once the object they’re put on crosses country borders, and that’s how we’re finding Angelina: something that was already there is pretty much reactivating…it’s not like we cast something entirely new, Audrey. If she hadn’t had the Trace put on her as a kid, I doubt we would even be able to find her.”

“Oh.” She swallows and opens her mouth as if to say something, but closes it again. “Thank you, Mr. Weasley,” she says, her voice thick with disappointment as she drops her hands to her sides. “That’s all I needed to know.”

She backs out of the office as he starts to gather up his paperwork, and he watches her head not towards her desk, but to the door that leads to the back stairs. He wonders, for a moment, if he should follow her, but then Justin and Wayne come back to debrief him on Angelina Johnson’s exact whereabouts and all the thoughts he has that involve Audrey Davies get pushed away.

Around two o’clock, though, once Justin and Wayne have sworn everything but the Unbreakable Vow that they would never reveal the information they gathered, Percy realizes that he hasn’t seen Audrey since Justin told him that Angelina was, in fact, living in Ocean Beach, California. He pokes his head into her cubicle, but she isn’t there, and she isn’t in the hallway, the staircase, or anywhere else as far as he can tell. He steps into the kitchenette at the back of the office, hoping that she’ll be there so that he can explain just how private she has to keep the information she’s been given, but the only person there is Suzette, looking as foreboding as ever despite her pink cardigan and grandmotherly looks.

“Suzette, have you seen Audrey anywhere?” he asks as nonchalantly as he can, reaching into the cabinet above the sink for the mug with his name on it.

Suzette stirs her tea. “Oh, she left a while ago. Said she wasn’t feeling well, and Amir let her leave early. Why do you ask?” Suzette raises her eyebrows questioningly as she takes a sip of her drink, and against his will Percy feels his cheeks flush red.

“N-no reason, really,” he stammers and pours himself some coffee. “I, er, wanted to ask her a few questions about the project she’s working on. You know, the Brocklehurst Initiative? The Minister’s very keen on utilizing that in daily workplace behavior, and I have to admit that I don’t know that much about it.”

He lets out a dry little laugh and Suzette rolls her eyes before turning back to her paperback romance. Inwardly, he lets out a sigh of relief; she might be excruciatingly unpleasant, but Suzette it the floor’s main source of gossip and Percy does not want to raise any suspicions on her radar. Besides, the mere _idea_ of him liking Audrey in “that way” is not something that he wants to be spread around. _Especially_ because there isn’t a single grain of truth in it. At all.  
Before he leaves for the day, Percy leaves the bar of Honeydukes’ chocolate he’d bought for his lunch on top of the unfinished paperwork piled on Audrey’s desk. And as the elevator doors close before him, he hopes that tomorrow she’ll feel well enough to enjoy it.


	9. Nine

**IX**

 

He stands in the doorway with the box held tightly in his hands, fear and dread and restlessness filling every nerve ending in his body. His hand seems very far away as he reaches forth to ring the doorbell and it almost feels like it doesn’t even belong to him. His feet itch with the urge to run – to leave this box on the doorstep and take off screaming into the hills – but he takes a deep breath and tries to will his heart to stop racing, hoping that he can stay calm long enough to get through this.

He _has_ to stay calm, because today is Penelope’s birthday.

Karen Clearwater opens the door to hers and James’ Manchester home, smiling widely as she waves Percy inside. There are pink balloons and streamers tied to every corner of the ceiling and a dozen children are running underfoot as Penelope and her friends rush past them and through the front door towards the front porch.

“Stay where I can see you, young lady! Oh, and it’s nice to see you, Percy,” Karen says as an afterthought, right before she kisses his cheek in greeting. She takes the box from his hands and sets it on a table already laden with brightly-wrapped gifts, then motions for him to follow her into the kitchen. James Clearwater and his wife’s parents are sitting around the scrubbed wooden table, eating pizza and talking about Spain’s chances for the Cup, but once he realizes they aren’t talking Quidditch Percy tunes it out and shakes James’ hand when he rises from his chair.

“Glad you could make it, Perce,” James says. He gives Percy his chair and moves to heat him up some of the pizza, and then steps out to the garage to get another beer. Penelope and her friends rush back in through the door and Penelope practically leaps into the chair across from Percy, her face red and her curly hair wild around her shoulders. Her friends continue their trek towards the backyard, but Penelope just stares at him.

“Who’re you?” she asks.

“Penelope, darling, don’t you remember your Uncle Percy?” Karen says as she hands Percy the plate from the microwave. “He’s known you almost as long as you’ve been alive.”

Penelope wrinkles her nose in distaste, presumably at the use of her full name. Percy smiles at the little girl, who in turn cocks her head to the side and stares at him for a long moment. But then she seems to decide that the joyful shrieks coming from the swing set are more important than determining who Percy is to her and she takes off running, nearly knocking into her father as he opens the door leading back into the kitchen. James and Karen both call after her, but she pulls a face at the back door and ducks out of sight before either of them can react.

“I’m sorry about that,” Karen smiles apologetically, shushing her mother’s muttered complaints – the words “holy terror” being the only ones he can understand – with a wave of her hand. “She’s such a handful sometimes! It makes me long for the days where I could just lock her in the playpen and not have to worry for a solid half-hour that anything valuable would break.”

The rest of the party passes by in a blur of loud conversation, laughing children, and too-sweet cake laden with frosting flowers. Penelope leads her party guests through the backyard as if it is a dangerous jungle laden with lions and bears, and when her father calls them all in for cake do they start an extremely complicated-looking board game and sit in a semicircle on the carpet while Penelope opens her presents. Throughout all of this, Percy sits off to the side with an untouched beer bottle in his hand. He smiles when James or Karen sends a glance his way, but most of the time he stays quiet and watches the goings-on around him. Like every other Clearwater gathering he is invited to, he is quiet and careful with what he says because he is, after all, a glutton for punishment.

His is the last present Penelope has left to open, and he smiles at the little girl in the center of the floor when her mother passes the parcel to her outstretched hands. She tears excitedly at the paper, and the room goes quiet when Penelope stares at the pink box in her hands like it is the Holy Grail and not just a doll. He’s almost afraid that she doesn’t like it, but then she leaps up from the floor and all that worry turns out to be for nothing.

“ _Princess Unicorn!_ ” Penelope shrieks, brandishing the doll’s box for all to see. “Thank you, Uncle Percy! Thank you, thank you, _thank you!_ ”

She flings herself at him and pulls him into a one-armed hug before rushing off with her mother to find a pair of scissors to open the box; her little friends following close behind and eager to examine this new toy.

“Where’d you find one of those?” James asks when Percy helps him gather up the discarded wrapping paper for the trash bin. “She’s been asking for that for ages, but I thought they weren’t supposed to hit the shelves for another month or so?”

“My brother got it for me,” he answers. “Apparently one of his deliverymen at the joke shop knows someone who knows someone, and I stopped asking questions after that.”

The party starts to wind down after that. Karen’s parents leave despite their daughter and granddaughter’s protests, and one by one Penelope’s gaggle of girlfriends are picked up by their parents until the only people left in the house are Percy, Penelope, and her parents. The four move themselves to the backyard once the trash and general birthday party debris is cleared from the floor and the kitchen and Penelope immediately pulls her mother towards the swings, leaving James and Percy to sit quietly on the steps of the back porch.

“Penelope is getting big,” Percy says as he takes the seat beside his former brother-in-law. He has a drink in his hand that he’s barely touched, and down by the swing set the girl in question is showing her brand-new Princess Unicorn to her mother as the wide wooden seat moves back and forth in a gentle, rocking rhythm. The sun is starting to set over the backyard, backlighting the yellow leaves hanging in the trees so that they look like they have caught on fire. It’s been a beautiful day.

“Actually, she prefers to be called ‘Penn,’ now.” James smirks and takes a swig of his beer. “She thinks ‘Penelope’ and ‘Penny’ are far too girly.”

“Penn Clearwater,” Percy says aloud. “It sounds like it belongs on an aging sportswriter’s byline, not a little girl.”

James chuckles wryly. “Try telling _her_ that. We’ve gotten complaints from her teachers, and most of them are about her refusal to answer to anything but ‘Penn.’”

“No meetings about accidental magic, yet?”

“Oh, no, Karen and I have had to sit through a couple of those. About a month ago, a boy on the playground stole a Mars bar she’d brought in her lunch and started teasing her about her name, calling her _‘Pen-elope’_ –” He pronounces the name like one would say _cantaloupe_. “– and when the boy went to eat the candy bar, it somehow turned into a block of ice. He chipped two teeth, and we were called in for a ‘conversation’ with the guidance counselor the next day.”

Penelope – _Penn_ – waves to them both when she realizes that they are watching, Princess Unicorn tucked under her arm and her mother’s arm wrapped around her shoulders. Percy waves back and tries to smile.

She doesn’t look like _his_ Penelope at all, which Percy supposes is both a blessing and a curse. There’s too much of Karen in her features; the brown eyes, the olive skin, and the proud, almost defiant tilt of her chin all belong to her mother. Even the traits that undoubtedly came from the Clearwater side of her family – particularly, the straight, angular set of her nose – have too much of her father in them. The only thing that she seems to have inherited from the aunt she never got the chance to know is the uncontrollably curly hair that falls around her shoulders, but even then her hair is far too dark to remind him of her namesake. He wonders if it’s wrong to wish that he saw more of the Penelope he loved in her sweet, innocent face, but when it all comes down to it he would never want to put that kind of legacy on a little girl.

“I miss her, too,” James says, resting a hand on Percy’s shoulder and pulling him out of his thoughts. Percy wants to ask if James was thinking the same thing, but stops himself. “But you don’t have to mourn forever.”

James squeezes his shoulder gently and rises from the steps, crossing the lawn in long strides as he walks out to the swing where his wife and daughter are waiting. Percy sits for a few moments afterwards, repeating the words in his head like some strange, ancient mantra: “ _you don’t have to, you don’t have to, you don’t have to mourn forever._ ” But he’s carried his grief for so long that it’s almost a part of him now, beating like a second heart inside him, and Percy isn’t too sure that he would be the same without it.

He says his goodbyes, and the wind is cold on his face as he flies his motorcycle home to London.

 

**IX½**

 

Percy sits in his workspace, chin resting in his hands and his eyes wandering across the paperwork in front of him without really taking in anything at all. It’s Friday afternoon and although he never thought he would admit this since the end of the War, he would honestly rather be anywhere else in the world than the Ministry.

He looks out the window, half-expecting to find the sunshine he saw on his way into work, but only finds blindingly white snow swirling outside the charmed glass. He isn’t all that surprised; Magical Maintenance has been asking for better benefits for almost three months, and they have been messing with the Weather Charms on the windows until their demands are met. It’s been “snowing” almost nonstop since September, but Percy knows that it could be worse. After all, he remembers when they wanted raises and made sure that there was nothing but hurricanes for a good six months.

He sighs and turns back to his desk – trying his hardest to keep his eyes from crossing as he attempts to read the contracts he’d had Kevin draw up for him earlier in the day – but before he can even pick up his quill, a small, quick movement catches his peripheral vision. He moves to strike it, thinking it’s a spider, but it turns out to only be a flash of light reflecting on the glass of one of the many picture frames lining the edge of his desk. He knocks one over and he flinches, thinking that the glass had broken when it fell to the floor with a clatter, but he breathes a sigh of relief when he realizes that his favorite photograph of Penelope has not suffered any damage.

He sets the photograph back on the desk. Behind the glass of her frame, Penelope smiles, waves, and turns the pages of her book – the same motions her image moves through day after day. Idly, almost unknowingly, he wonders what it would be like to be with anyone other than Penelope. He glances across the aisle to where Audrey sits, chewing on her lower lip in concentration and staring at the paperwork laid out before her, and Percy suddenly feels as though he has been given an electric shock.

He’s worked with her day in and day out for the past two years, but it suddenly occurs to him that he’s never _really_ looked at Audrey Davies. Despite her arrogant, argumentative nature she’s actually quite pretty in the agreeable, girl-next-door kind of way that some people find attractive, with her dark hair and her blue eyes and…and he catches himself staring at the soft curve of her mouth. It’s only then, when he realizes that he wants to know how she _tastes_ , that he turns away, filled with fear and embarrassment and some sort of nervous, jumbled-up feeling he can’t figure out how to name. He forces himself to turn back to the paperwork he’s been ignoring, muttering to himself about how he is “not going to do this” – not now, not here, and especially not with _her_.

When the clock above the reception desk strikes five and everyone in the office rises to leave, Percy is the first to spring out of his chair. He races through gathering his belongings, hoping that he can make it to the elevator before anyone else. He’s going to George’s for dinner even though he is not invited, hoping that George and his kids can distract him with their chatter, their questions, and the yuletide advent calendar that they are starting tonight. He practically sprints in his rush to get to the elevator, nearly knocking over several of his fellow employees in his haste, but he is forced to skid to a halt as the crowd around him slows to wait by the closed doors. He rocks on the balls of his feet, anxiously watching the little arrow above the elevator count the floors it is passing and feeling like he is going to burst out of his skin with this newfound energy.

“Going down?”

“What?” He whips around nervously, only to find Audrey standing right behind him. She points to the elevator doors and almost as if by magic, they open. The people around them shuffle towards the small compartment and Audrey is the last to enter. She holds the door open with her hand and raises an eyebrow as if to say, _are you coming or going, dummy?_ , when Percy realizes that he never answered her question.

“N-no, I, I think I’ll take the stairs today. Good…good-night, Audrey,” he stammers. “I’ll see you Monday.”

Audrey smiles as the doors close, and everything he wants to say gets tangled on his tongue. For the first time in a very, very long time, Percy Weasley finds that he can’t get the words out.

 

**IX¾**

 

He doesn’t know how they find out, but the only thing that anyone can seem to talk about at the Weasley Family Christmas Party is that Percy has a date the very next day. Even though Ron has decided to leave the Auror Corps and work with George full time, Fleur announces that she and Bill are going to start trying for another child, and Ginny plans on leaving the Holyhead Harpies to write full-time for the sports section of _The Daily Prophet_ , the only thing anyone wants to talk about is Percy’s upcoming “romantic rendezvous.”

His brothers joke and tease, asking if she’s as blind as he is, and Ginny and his sisters-in-law all make a fuss about whether or not she’s pretty enough (or in Hermione’s case, smart enough) for “their Percy.” His father claps him on the back and congratulates him and his mother corners him by the pantry when he helps bring out the dessert, pulling him into a rib-crushing hug and whispering “I’m so happy for you, darling,” in his ear before carrying a rather large apple pie out to the dining room table. When the time comes for his nieces and nephews to open their midnight present, Roxanne tells all of her cousins that she is going to be the first to meet their “new auntie,” which makes her father laugh and makes Percy want to crawl in a hole and die from embarrassment.

“Do I emit some type of scent that they’re picking up on?” he asks Ginny as they gather the dinner dishes for washing. “Seriously, Gin, how does everyone know all this when I only made plans ten minutes before I got here?

Ginny smirks and sets down the stack of plates on the countertop before reaching up to rub her thumb against his cheek. “You’ve been wearing this all night, Percy,” she says, holding up her hand for him to see. There is red lipstick smudged across the pad of her thumb, and Percy’s heart sinks into his stomach as he recalls his and Audrey’s failed attempt to kiss from earlier in the evening. “And as Dad’s fond of saying, it isn’t exactly sprocket science.”

Percy groans and swipes at his face with his hand, and when he pulls it away there is lipstick spread all across his palm. He tries again, smearing the lipstick further across his skin in the process, and Ginny laughs and wets a dishtowel, reaching up to wipe at his face before he spreads it any more.

“Calm down, Percy,” she scolds him jokingly. “We don’t mean any harm by it. We’re all just happy that you’re finally finding someone…even if her taste in men is a little off.” Ginny winks and turns away to rinse off the towel, and Percy can only stare at his little sister, dumbstruck, as she asks him to put the dishes in the sink so she can wash them.

This feeling seems to follow him all through the next day, right up until he arrives at the little corner café in Diagon Alley he’d arranged to meet Audrey at the night before. It’s surprisingly crowded for the day after Christmas, and he sits by himself in a corner booth of the Quill and Quirke Café trying to convince himself that she isn’t going to stand him up. He tears the paper napkin nervously between his fingers and keeps glancing towards the door.

When she arrives, he almost doesn’t recognize her at first. She looks so different outside of work, not when he’s used to seeing her looking smart in her pinstriped skirts and too-high heels. She looks almost underdressed in her denims and heavy overcoat, but there’s a casual type of sophistication in the way she carries herself that Percy can’t overlook. When she hangs her coat on the back of her chair and unwinds the scarf from her neck, the necklace that he bought her shines brightly against her collarbone. He raises his gaze to meet her eyes – Merlin forbid she think he was looking at something else – but it fills him with a strange sense of pride, nonetheless, to see that she is wearing what he gave to her.

“Did you and your family have a good time last night?” he asks as a harried-looking waitress brings them their menus.

Audrey gives him a bemused little smile as she takes hers. “My family?”

“Yes, your family. You know…the people at your party?” He pauses. “Weren’t they your family?”

“Oh!” she laughs and her fingers tighten around the corners of her menu. “Oh, no, that wasn’t my family.”

“They weren’t?”

“No, my roommate decided that she wanted to throw a big party for her family, and since I didn’t have anywhere else to get to I got roped into helping her with everything.”

“Didn’t you want to spend the holidays with your parents, though?”

She takes a sip of her water and does not look him in the eye. “My parents are abroad. They, ah, couldn’t make it to Christmas this year.”

Her tone is surprisingly tense as she talks about her family, so Percy drops it and changes the subject; Godric knows that not every family is as tightly-knit as the Weasleys, and if she’s got some problems with her parents then he doesn’t want to pry. He talks about work and the cases they’re going to continue working on once the holidays are over, and when she asks about his family he is more than happy to tell her stories about his brothers and sister and nieces and nephews. She talks about her dog, her roommate, her time in Ravenclaw tower, and by the time their food arrives Percy finds himself nearly doubled over in laughter from some story about her getting trapped outside the Ravenclaw Common Room for two hours after being unable to answer the doorknocker’s question. It surprises him only because he hasn’t felt this comfortable around new people in absolute ages, but his conversation with Audrey is so encouragingly familiar at times that it almost seems as if he’s known her longer than he has.

When they finish their dinner they walk down through Diagon, still talking and admiring the holiday decorations as the snow crunches underneath their feet, and when they are a few storefronts away from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes Audrey pulls him into an alleyway. She looks so small compared to him, especially in this cramped and tiny passageway, and to look her in the eyes Percy has to tilt his head at an odd angle. Never before has he cursed being so tall.

“We shouldn’t do this,” he says, shoving his hands deeper into his coat pockets for warmth. He takes a step back, careful to keep a small amount of space and general propriety between them. The friendly familiarity that has seemed to spring up between them overnight is a little frightening, to tell the truth, and he doesn’t want to ruin anything by taking things too fast.

“Do what?”

“ _This_.” He makes an odd, sweeping gesture between the two of them and tries not to think about how just how close they are. “It’s against Ministry policy, you know, having an, er, inter-office relationship. It’s a conflict of interest.”

“Are you saying that a friendly dinner is a _relationship_ , Mr. Weasley?” Audrey smirks. “Because I think it’s going to take more than just dinner for that.” Her hands curl over his shoulders and he can feel the brick of the building behind him even through the thick wool of his coat as she gently pushes him backwards. She moves closer, lessening the space between their bodies until there’s not even an inch between them and if he was able to focus on anything but her mouth, Percy is sure that he could count the individual snowflakes caught in her hair. She stands up on tiptoe and this time, they don’t miss.

It starts off awkwardly, as most first kisses do; bumping noses and teeth, but they soon find a pleasant balance. Percy’s hands flutter awkwardly at her sides, unable to find a proper place to rest them. Audrey wraps her arms tighter around his neck and he pulls her closer, finally settling his hands on the small of her back and the back of her neck, respectively. Her lips are soft against his own and he feels like his body is on fire – it’s been so long since he actually _kissed_ someone that he’d forgotten how nice it could be – but he runs his fingers through Audrey’s dark hair and tries not to think about how all of this is going to work.

“For Merlin's sake, Percy,” someone catcalls from just outside the alleyway. “Keep it in your robes! There’re children afoot!”

For a dizzying, disoriented moment, Percy had completely forgotten that they were actually out in public. But with George’s laughing voice bringing him back to reality he remembers where he is, who he’s with, and exactly what he’s _doing_ , and it sends shockwaves of embarrassment throughout his body. They break apart and stare at where George is standing at the entrance of the alleyway with Verity and his kids, Fred peering from behind Verity’s legs and George covering the eyes of a squirming Roxanne. Beet-red, Audrey quickly releases her hold on Percy while he straightens his clothes as best he can. They leave the alley as quickly as they can, and when George drops his hands from his daughter’s eyes Roxanne’s jaw falls open in shock.

“Er…Audrey, I’d like you to meet some of my family,” he says rather shakily. “This is my brother, George, and his children, Fred and Roxanne. And this is Verity,” he adds quickly. “She’s a close friend of the family.”

George smirks as he steps forward to shake her hand, and Percy feels like he’s going to burn up from the abject humiliation, but Audrey laughs and takes George’s hand. Roxanne, now that she’s able to see again, won’t stop whispering loudly in her father’s ear about how “pretty” her “new auntie” is.

“It’s freezing out here,” Verity says quickly, once the she realizes exactly what Roxanne has said. “D’you want to come back to the shop and warm up? I was going to make some hot chocolate for the kids, if you’re interested.”

He doesn’t know who makes the decision, but the next thing Percy knows he and Audrey are being herded towards the joke shop, Fred clinging to Verity and Audrey’s hands as they walk down the snow-covered street. George and Percy are a few steps behind them, and when they are only a few feet from the front doors, Roxanne moans that she wants to get down and “walk with Auntie Audrey,” which just makes Percy feel even more awkward than before, if that’s even possible.

“I knew she was going to be a looker, Perce,” George winks as he sets Roxanne on the ground. “Ron owes me and Charlie ten galleons.

Percy groans inwardly, wondering if it’s possible for someone to drop dead from sheer embarrassment. But secretly – deep, deep down inside, where he won’t even admit it to himself – he’s actually rather glad that George stumbled upon him and Audrey in that alley.

It’s a different way to start things, yes, but that just means that it can’t get any worse.


	10. Ten

**X**

 

Winter melts slowly into spring as Percy and Audrey start their awkward courtship. They try to keep things quiet at the office, but Percy is secretly sure that everyone knows what’s going on between them – no matter how much they argue, no matter how proper and distant they are in front of their co-workers, it isn’t too hard to scratch the surface and realize that Percy Weasley and Audrey Davies are synchronizing their tea and biscuit breaks. Or see how Audrey keeps coming back from her lunch with her clothes a little rumpled and her lipstick slightly smudged, and how Percy has rearranged his photographs so that Penelope – once set in a prominent place right next to his ink bottle – has been replaced by one of his many nieces and nephews standing underneath the awning of a new outlet of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. And it really doesn’t help that Suzette has the ears of a wolf and the eyes of a hawk when it comes to sniffing out all “vulgar, clandestine trysts” that occur in the office under her watch.

No one says anything, and life moves on as normally as it can. But deep down Percy wants them to know; wants to get caught so that he doesn’t have to expose their secret himself.

He introduces her to his family members one at a time, hoping that if he incorporates her slowly she won’t run off screaming towards the hills when he finally gets around to inviting her to the Burrow for one of his mother’s Sunday Dinners. She laughs at all Ron’s jokes when they go to the Wheeze and teases Charlie for trying to flirt with her back when they first met. She seems genuinely interested in Ginny’s work for _The Daily Prophet_ and even helps a pregnant Fleur waddle, off-balanced, from one room to another when they go around Shell Cottage for lunch one afternoon. Both Hermione and his father have nothing but nice things to say about Audrey when they learn hear her name, and when he casually mentions to his mother that she’s a skinny little thing – telling her over tea how Audrey barely eats during the day – his mother makes it her personal mission to have another mouth to feed. Molly bakes pies and bread and a dozen other things for Percy to bring to Audrey when the workday is over. She hasn’t cooked like this since Harry lived with the Dursleys and Audrey’s empty pantry seems to fill up within the week, much to both their surprise.

He finally brings her home to meet everyone at once on the day George announces that and Verity are getting married, and his entire family seems to burst into a cry of collective shock at exactly the same time. Everyone that is, except for Percy, who only rues his bad timing. Bringing Audrey to the Burrow for the first time was supposed to consist of a nice, relatively quiet family dinner…not a dozen loud, obnoxious conversations over the price of invitations and where and when his brother will honeymoon. He’s happy for George – he really, _really_ is – but he can’t help but silently wish that his brother could have picked a different family dinner to announce his and Verity’s engagement.

Embarrassed by all the attention lavished on the two of them, Verity “Soon-to-be-Weasley” Bloom turns seven shades of red before even moving from the Burrow’s front hallway into the sitting room as four Weasley women (and, er, Audrey) descend upon her to gaze adoringly at the engagement ring on her left hand. Even Hermione – proper, serious, uptight _Hermione_ – falls under the spell Verity’s diamond ring has seemed to cast over everyone and gets misty-eyed when recalling hers and Ron’s honeymoon.

“We’re not like this all the time,” he keeps telling Audrey in a hushed voice, blushing at the tips of his ears in true Weasley fashion as Charlie claps George on the back and asks him, quite loudly, if he and Verity are getting married because he “knocked her up.” Arthur nearly chokes on his drink and Molly gives her second oldest son a withering, scornful glare as the table around them goes silent for what feels like hours, only to burst into an even louder argument after four-year-old James asks – and quite loudly, at that – exactly what _“knocked up”_ means.

“Don’t worry about it,” Audrey whispers back, squeezing his hand under the table as George threatens to knock his older brother unconscious with his tablespoon and Verity covers her face with her hands. “I like the noise. It’s, um…well, it’s interesting!”

Almost immediately afterwards, dinner finally, _finally_ ends and everyone retires to the sitting room, where Percy’s parents have set up a table practically groaning under the weight of the desserts Molly has made for everyone. And it is there, sitting in the company of his family with a plate of brambleberry pie resting on his knee, that the rest of the Weasleys remember Percy brought a girl home.

“So, _Kitten_ ,” Charlie says with a wink. “D’you want to tell everyone where you and Percy met?”

Audrey blushes and Percy once again feels like he is going to burn up from embarrassment, but despite all that it all goes well. His family is notoriously critical of newcomers – Fleur is a living testament to this, as is ( _was_ ) Angelina – but once they survive the seemingly-endless gauntlet that is spending a meal surrounded by Weasley relatives, most people are warmly accepted into the fold, and nearly all of them become Weasleys themselves. Honestly, Percy’s just happy that she _can_ meet his family; that things aren’t awkward and empty between himself and the rest of the Weasley clan; not like they used to be.

The night ends with his mother filling the sidecar on his motorcycle with enough food to feed an army for a month, and when he flies her home to Leeds Audrey’s arms are secured firmly around his waist. The night air is cold on Percy’s face, and despite the fact it is close to two o’clock in the morning, he feels more awake and alive than he has in, well, _ever_. He likes that.

 

**X½**

 

They’re too old for this and they both know it, but it doesn’t stop them. The furniture is all pushed to one side in Percy’s living room, and the two of them are sprawled out on the carpet, a bowl of popcorn on the floor between them. It is a little after midnight, and Percy and Audrey are throwing popcorn at her dog, Monty, trying to see who can get the Yorkshire terrier to catch the most before they hit the ground. Several pieces of popcorn bounce off of the dog’s side, but he catches one right in his mouth.

“That’s eight for me,” Percy crows, reaching over Audrey’s lap to grab another handful of popcorn.

“No, you dolt, that was _my_ piece. Yours hit him in the ear.” She swats at his hand, trying to keep him from the popcorn, and moves the bowl a little further from his reach.

“Liar!” He can barely hold back a childish laugh. “You’re just trying to make up points so you win.”

“Loser sleeps in the bathtub? Hell _yes_ , I’m trying to win.” Audrey slaps at his hand again; he’s tried to reach behind her for the bowl, but Percy was never very good at being sneaky.

They spent the day in the park with Fred and Roxie and Audrey’s dog, treating his favorite niece and nephew to ice cream and a nice little outing while George and Verity went over the last-minute details of their wedding. Still undecided on where their honeymoon would be, Percy offered to take them out for a bit while his brother and the bride-to-be made the excruciatingly hard choice between Greece and Rome. He pitied them, really.

Monty barks for attention and it pulls Percy out of his thoughts. Audrey flings a handful of popcorn at him; he catches one piece and the rest flies past his wagging tail.

“That’s got to be at _least_ five points,” Audrey points out as the pieces of popcorn bounce off of the mantle of the fireplace to fall to the floor.

“That’s got to be _cheating_ , and you’re hogging the bowl.” Percy lunges for the popcorn, but all he’s successful at is knocking the bowl out of Audrey’s hand, scattering popcorn everywhere, and inadvertently tackling her to the floor. They both dissolve into giggles, and for just a moment, they both feel like kids again…rather than two people who have seen far, _far_ too much of life.

Audrey chuckles below him and reaches up to brush hair from his eyes, and a wave of uncertainty passes through his body. She pauses in her movements and chews her lower lip in that annoyingly attractive way of hers, her hand resting on the back of his neck, and he is suddenly hyperaware of just how close their bodies are. On an impulse, he leans in to kiss her.  
It has been nearly six years since Percy has been with anyone other than himself. Six years of one toothbrush by the bathroom sink, of one place setting at all three meals, of his limbs stretching out across the bed in the middle of the night and only finding empty mattress. Six years of watching his brothers and baby sister grow and love and marry and being the quiet, bachelor uncle that stands alone on the sidelines at every family gathering, wishing that he could be like them. He’s carried his grief with him for six long years and his guilt for even longer, but when he’s around Audrey it feels like a weight he didn’t even know he carried has been lifted from his shoulders. It’s a feeling he’s been finding that he wants to keep.

Off in the corner her dog is eating the rest of the popcorn and slobbering on his sofa, and directly below him Audrey moves up and kisses him back. Her back arches and she’s purposely pressing her body closer to his as he leans on his elbows, shifting his weight so that he isn’t crushing her. She pushes his shoulders and he rolls over onto his back. Audrey leans down, trying to take control of the situation, but after a few moments she pulls away, staring down at him with an odd, bemused expression on her face.

“Bedroom?” she asks, almost in a whisper. Some of her hair has come loose from her ponytail and it hangs in a dark, awkwardly-shaped curtain that separates the two of them from everything else. He can’t remember how to speak – all he can think about is just how soft she is, compared to how sharp and angular she seems – but he must say something that vaguely resembles human speech, because the next thing he knows Audrey is standing up and holding out her hand. He takes it, and when he rises she points to the bedroom door and says, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

He watches her walk away and as soon as the bathroom door shuts behind her, he nearly trips over himself rushing into his bedroom. He pulls his shirt over his head and hurries to simultaneously undress and straighten up the room before Audrey makes her entrance. He sits on the newly-made bed in his boxers and waits, watching the clock and trying not to count the seconds that have passed

And he can’t help it – he panics. He once again starts to neaten the room around him – even though everything is already clean and tidy – compulsively adjusting the various objects on his bedside table until they all sit in a straight, orderly line; lamp, alarm clock, wand, photograph of Penelope. He stares at Penny’s photo for a good ten seconds, wondering if he should just turn it to the wall or leave it as is, but he grabs it and sets it, face-down, in the table’s drawer as quickly as he can and sits on his bed, feeling lost.

 _What if she doesn’t come out?_ He wonders, nervously chewing on his thumbnail. _What if I’ve misinterpreted everything and she gets uncomfortable and when she sees me out here like this, she changes her mind and leaves?_ He considers pacing the room, or taking Penny’s photograph out of the nightstand, or even putting his clothes back on and pretending that this never happened, but the nervous dread that fills the pit of his stomach keeps him seated. Percy closes his eyes and tries to breathe, hoping that what he’s doing is the right thing.

And when he opens his eyes, she’s there.

For the first time ever, Audrey looks shy as she walks towards him, and Percy feels like he’s going to choke; Audrey reaches out to touch him and it feels almost as if he’s not really in his body anymore, like he’s watching everything from somewhere across the room. Audrey leans in to kiss him, and his fingers twitch with the bizarre desire to run them through the dark curtain of her hair. He rests them on her hip, at the lacy edge of her panties.

“I’ve wanted this for a really long time,” he says, and his voice cracks. “But I, um, haven’t actually _done_ this in a really long time.”

“I kind of guessed.” She smiles and although her voice is smooth, there’s a faint hesitation in it. He’s almost relieved to hear that she’s as nervous as he is, but her words make him stiffen and swallow. She pushes him backwards and her hands are soft where they rest against his shoulders.

He fumbles for something to say, stumbling over his words and feeling like he’s sixteen years old again as Audrey’s bites her lower lip to keep from laughing. He cringes inside, cursing at his lack of eloquence, but then she moves and it feels as though the Earth is shaking. He gasps and grabs her hips and he can feel the mattress groan underneath their bodies; his bed hasn’t seen this type of movement in very long while, and Percy wonders idly if the springs could have rusted in that absence.

“We might break it.”

“Is that a challenge, Mr. Weasley?”

He’s giddy, but his words fail him and she kisses him again. She’s warm and clean and wonderful, the bed is creaking beneath them and here in this moment, with her, against her, and just so _in love_ with her, Percy Weasley couldn’t care less.


	11. Eleven

**XI**

 

Percy gets called into the Ministry the first day he and Audrey spend in their new house, which bothers him only because it seems to be just one more thing too add to an increasingly long list of what has gone wrong that day. It started off small, when Percy woke up with a stiff back from sleeping on the floor of their new bedroom, and slowly got worse as they started unpacking. Not only had their water not been turned on, but his good pewter cauldron somehow cracked into two pieces during the move, and to top it all off, three boxes of their kitchenware are nowhere to be found.

So really, being sore, sleep-deprived, and possibly robbed of all his silverware by the Muggle movers Audrey hired is not how he wants to be spending this day. Getting called into the Ministry just to be the deciding vote on what type of stationery is "appropriate" for inter-office use isn't exactly helping matters any, and when he gets home he nearly kills himself tripping over the half-empty boxes scattered across their sitting room.

"We have," he announces, stepping over another box, "Far, _far_ too much junk."

"You say that now, but when everything's all nice and pretty and out of the box, I'm sure you'll change your tune."

Clad in jeans and one of his old t-shirts, Audrey grins at him as she walks out of the kitchen carrying yet another large cardboard box. Her dog barks and leaps about her ankles, trying to get his owner's attention as she pushes the box into Percy's arms. "This is the last of the books. Could you sort through it for me? I've been trying to get back to the bookcase all day, but the whole kitchen-fiasco's eaten up a lot of my time."

"You know, I thought a Ravenclaw would have been more excited about moving. The cataloguing, the sorting, all that _filing_ –"

"And I would have thought a _Gryffindor_ would have been more eager to fight with the movers about getting our silverware back. 'Brave and battle-ready,' wasn't that the unofficial motto?"

"Better brave than bored to tears. How many dictionaries do you have, exactly?"

"If you keep needling me," she laughs, picking up Monty from the floor. "The first thing I'm going to do when we get everything back is charm all our knives and forks to turn to spoons every time you touch them, and then never make soup again. Just go through it, please? I'm still trying to get the bedroom done, and I don't really want to have to sleep on the floor again because you're being difficult."

"I thought you liked me being difficult?" He sets the box down amongst the others and tries to kiss her, but Audrey wriggles away and grins before telling him to get started.

Most of his books are old spellbooks from Hogwarts, hand-me-downs on Quidditch and mythical creatures from Bill and Charlie that he never got around to getting rid of, all mixed in with the odd assortment of Muggle paperbacks from his father and fat history tomes Aunt Muriel always bought him for his birthday. Audrey, on the other hand, is not as eclectic in her literary tastes. Everything is either drenched in legal-speak and magical law or graced with titles like _The Veela and the Scoundrel_ and _A Season for Seduction_ , with almost nothing in-between. He laughs to himself as he sorts through the candy-colored romance novels and heavy leather-bound books on property law, and he's so focused on just shelving everything and moving on that he almost misses _The Diary of Penny Clearwater_ when he reaches into the last box.

It's a small book, and a well-read copy at that; there's a permanent crease in the spine from where the book was held open and the pages are dog-eared and covered with notes in Audrey's neat and tidy handwriting. There are whole passages highlighted, too: descriptions of the guards and inmates at Azkaban, nearly all the footnotes added by Justin and several of the higher-ups at the Ministry, and surprisingly, entire sections that revolve around him.

Percy hasn't looked at his own copy of the diary since a particularly masochistic New Year's Eve four or five years back – not that he _needs_ to, anyway, since every word has been more than likely permanently fixed into his brain – but the fact that before he even met her, Audrey Davies knew about such a large portion of his life is just… _overwhelming_. He gropes blindly for the edge of the sofa and practically falls against it, overcome with a myriad of emotions he isn't too sure he can name.

"Aren't you done yet? I've been waiting until you finished with the books before I unpacked the…other…" Audrey's voice trails off when she realizes what book he's holding, and all the laughter in tone seems to have died when she says, "…You found it."

Percy blinks, staring at her. "You knew about her?" His words feel bitter on his tongue, like ash, like rust, like smoke; he feels like all the air has been sucked out of his lungs. "You knew about the two of us? All this time, all we've talked about, and you…you _knew?_ "

Audrey silently nods her head and for the first time, Percy realizes that his hands are shaking. His life is in that book and she knew – knows, _knows_ , _**knows**_ – all the things about him he never wanted to tell. Penelope was his, has been since he was sixteen years old, and even though he has to share her with the world there are still things that he selfishly, desperately, _frantically_ wants to keep to himself.

"I didn't think it would be so important to you," Audrey says, but almost as soon as she speaks she seems to regret the words. She claps a hand over her mouth and her eyes grow wide. "I didn't mean it like that," she says from behind her hand. " _Percy_ , I, I _didn't_ …"

But he's gone.

Percy shoulders past her on his way out the door, and with a wave of his wand, the motorcycle in the driveway flares to life with a rumbling growl of the engine. His helmet dangles precariously from the handlebar as he lifts off from the ground, but in his blind fury Percy does nothing to stop it from falling. He soars through the sky for hours without really knowing where he's going; racing through clouds and circling above rooftops and roadways until he realizes he's flying over his brother's home, stewing in his own anger all the while.

He lands rather awkwardly in the alleyway between the Diagon outlet of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and the little secondhand shop, and as he strides up the back steps to George's flat he tries to think of what he can say that won't make him sound like a crazy person.

Percy knocks and no one answers. He knocks again, and still no one answers. He fumbles around for the spare key George kept hidden under a brick, but then, clad in a red dressing gown and looking very flustered, George opens the door and looks about ready to hex him.

"Percy! What's going on?"

"N-nothing, George. I was just in the Alley and I –"

"Is someone dead? Are you hurt? Are you about to be murdered by an axe-wielding psychopath?"

"No! I was just –"

"Then why the _hell_ are you here?" George leans against the doorway and Percy glances over his brother's shoulder. There are candles melting on the kitchen table, a bottle of wine is open, and the door leading to the bedroom is only halfway closed. Percy wants to kick himself.

"We've just gotten back, Percy! Do you know what I had to deal with at the conference? And here I am, hoping for _one_ day of relaxation before we pick up the kids from Verity's parents' place and _you–!_ "

"Oh, leave him alone, would you, George?" Verity tightens the tie on her own plaid robe as she walks out of the bedroom, running a hand through her hair before smiling at her brother-in-law. "Hi, Percy. Is everything alright?"

Percy feels his face grow hot with embarrassment and Verity gives him an odd, knowing look before pulling George back into the apartment. They seem to have a conversation solely with their eyes, and after a few moments of Verity furrowing her brow and nodding briskly in Percy's direction, George stomps back into the bedroom to get dressed. When he finally comes back out, he sullenly asks Percy if he'd like to head down to the pub for a bit.

"Thanks, George," he says gratefully, stepping out of the way so that George can walk down the narrow staircase. "I didn't mean to interrupt, er, whatever it was you two were doing."

George shrugs. "'S not that big a deal. If anything, you got me out of going out with the in-laws tomorrow."

"That must be difficult, with them being Muggles and all."

"Yeah, I guess. Sometimes."

Percy tries to think of something meaningful to say – like _"How about those Cannons?"_ or _"How was the weather in Salem?"_ or _"I'm sorry I interrupted your evening, but I didn't know you were about to have some 'alone time' with your wife and can we please move on from that, now?"_ – but he stays quiet the entire rest of the way and can't get George to look at him until they get to the front doors.

Hannah Longbottom welcomes them warmly, pointing to a free table in the corner of the busy pub before rushing back behind the bar. George holds up two fingers and Hannah nods, laughing at something one of her waitresses says before reaching for her wand. The brothers stare awkwardly at each other across the table while they wait, George listlessly tearing a napkin to shreds as Percy taps his fingers tunelessly against the tabletop. Their drinks float to them over everyone else's heads, and Percy tries to think of something, anything, to break the uneasy silence between them. George beats him to it.

"So what exactly did you say to that poor girl that made her kick you out of the house?"  
Percy nearly knocks his drink out of midair. " _I_ didn't say _anything_ ," he protests. "And she didn't _'kick me out'_ …I left of my own volition."

George rolls his eyes.

"I did! Do you know what she did to me? She lied, George. She lied about _everything_."

Percy launches into his tale and when he finishes, George doesn't answer. He stares at him with an odd, puzzled expression that Percy has never seen him wear, and Percy thinks of the first day he met Audrey, of how she picked up the photograph of Penelope and read the inscription and how she pretended – for it _had_ to be pretending, how could he have been so _blind?_ – that his wife was still alive. He takes off his glasses and rubs at his eyes, while George just motions to Hannah for another round of drinks.

"Percy," George says, resting his hand comfortingly on Percy's. "What I'm about to tell you comes from the heart…and, ah, just about everyone in our family." He takes a deep breath and looks Percy square in the eye. "Just get over it."

Percy splutters and pushes George's hand away. " _What?_ "

"Get over it," George repeats. "We're proud of you for finally pulling yourself together and all, but it's been, what, seven, eight years? We all love you, mate, but maybe it's time to just stop thinking about the past and start focusing on the _future_ , y'know?"

Percy just stares at his brother, his mouth hanging open in a rather unattractive manner as Hannah sets another set of glasses on the table with a smile.

"Everyone knows who Penny is. That's her legacy, Perce, and she's right up there with Harry and You-Know-Who when it comes to learning about the war. Try to put yourself in Audrey's shoes: how would you act around someone who loved Penelope? How would you even _try_ to compare yourself to Penny, when she's just on the other side of sainthood these days? I know you miss her, Percy. Everyone does. But the thing is, she's _gone_ , and she's _been_ gone, and as much as I wish otherwise Penelope isn't going to come back. But you're still here, and everyone wants you to be happy again."

"What do I _do_ , though?" His voice is caught somewhere between a whine and a groan, frustration and misery and a thousand other feelings all battling for control of his senses. "What should I _do?_ "

George smiles and drains his glass. "Give Audrey a break, big brother. She's only human."

They stay until last call, drinking and talking and running up a rather impressive bar tab long into the night. And when Percy finally staggers out of the Squire Cab George called for him – the smaller, safer, less-motion-sickness-inducing cousin of the Knight Bus – he fumbles with his house keys as he tries to open the front door. The world is swimming around him, and the fact that it is nearly pitch-dark in the sitting room really isn't helping matters any, but Percy moves as quietly as he can across the narrow path between the still-unpacked boxes. He tries to light the way with his wand, but it takes three tries for _Lumos_ to come out right and in the end, it doesn't matter.

Audrey turns on the lights. Her eyes are free of tears and strife – right now, she just looks angry. Percy stumbles towards the fireplace and leans against the hard stone mantle; his legs seem light-years too long for his body and he's sure that if he tries to step away, he'll crash to the ground.

"You're back." Audrey says flatly. "I thought you never wanted to see me again."

Percy shrugs, and he must say something that vaguely resembles human speech, because almost immediately after he mumbles where he's been, Audrey smirks.

"You're drunk."

"And you're _pretty_ ," Percy slurs. "Pretty, pretty. Like a painting."

"I thought the hardest thing you drank was pumpkin juice," Audrey deadpans, resting her hands on her hips as she tries to regain her composure. She's still wearing his shirt, and all he wants to do is peel it off of her.

"Well, there's a lot you don't know about me." Audrey bristles and he cringes. "I didn't mean it like that."

"I'm sure you didn't."

It feels like his mouth is moving slightly to the left every time he tries to open it, and he stands there – mouth gaping open like a fish out of water – until Audrey just holds up a hand to silence him. This is going incredibly wrong incredibly quickly, and for the first time, Percy realizes that there is a packed suitcase sitting right beside her.

"Look, I get it – I was in the wrong. I'm sorry. And if you don't want a relationship, that's fine. I'll admit, I probably pushed a little harder than I should have. I knew this would be tough, and _everyone_ told me that you probably wouldn't want anything serious." She pauses, watching him with uncertain eyes. "But I kept on. I liked you so much and I wanted it to work out…but I don't think that I can be second, here."

" _Audrey_ ," he says, his voice coming out quieter than he thought it would. "Audrey, please don't do this." He's begging. He doesn't beg, he _never_ begs; he never even begged throughout his estrangement from his family, not even when all he wanted was to come home. Can't she see that he needs her?

"I called Cho earlier. She said I could stay with her and Dan for a bit if, if you didn't come back." Audrey looks like there is more she wants to say, but instead she picks up her suitcase and moves towards the fireplace.

"No, Audrey – hold on – _wait_ –"

He grasps her by the wrist and she tries to pull herself away, but the room seems to slant itself on an angle and he can't stay upright any longer. Percy falls backwards onto the sofa and drags Audrey down with him. They are caught in an awkward tangle of arms and legs and she struggles to separate herself from him, trying to move away even as he tugs her closer.

"I'm sorry," he says, cupping her face with his hands. The room is still spinning around him, but she is the only thing that is clear. "I'm _sorry_ …I was an absolute idiot to act the way I did."

Audrey mumbles something in agreement before trying to push him away, right as he moves up to kiss her. It is gentle and chaste, at first, but when it finally _clicks_ Percy's heart skips a beat. In fact, based on the trouble he's having breathing, he decides it skips at least three. After a few moments Audrey pulls away and she sighs, her forehead pressed against Percy's.

"I'm sorry," he whispers again, brushing her cheek with his thumb. "I know you didn't mean for it to happen like this. I feel like I messed everything up."

"Yeah, well. You kind of did." She gives him a small smile, then reaches up to move his hands away from her face. "But not for good, though."

 

**XI½**

 

When Percy wakes up to the sound of his girlfriend shouting and breaking something, he assumes she is attempting to cook herself breakfast and very nearly shrugs it off before going back to sleep. Audrey is many things, but a talented chef is not one of them, and there have been multiple occasions where her frustration in the kitchen has gotten the best of her. More often than not, their cookery has paid the price for it.

"Fuck!" Audrey shouts. A cabinet door slams shut. " _Fuck!_ "

Percy turns over, wanting to just burrow deeper into the blankets and fall back asleep, but the clattering from the kitchen persists. He lies on his back and stares at the ceiling, trying to sink back into the warm and weightless dreamland he'd been in only moments before, but it isn't any use. He's awake now, and there's no going back now that he's up.

"Audrey, what are you doing?" he calls out as he pulls himself out of the bed, buttoning his pajama top as he walks into the hallway. "I told you before – I don't care that you can't make waffles! Muggles make them frozen now so you don't _have_ to deal with an oven."

He cleans his glasses with the hem of his shirt, blinking stupidly at the empty kitchen once he realizes that she isn't there. Monty lifts his head in interest when Percy shuffles past the dog's bed in the corner near the cooling cupboard, huffing out a breath before dropping his head back to rest on his paws.

"Audrey?"

He walks back down the hallway to their bedroom, poking his head into the other empty rooms as he passes. The door to the bathroom is the only door that is shut; she's locked herself inside and Percy rattles the doorknob, trying to get in.

"Hey, are you alright in there?" he asks. Another clattering noise and another round of muffled cursing are the only response he gets. "Audrey, is everything okay?"

He's answered with silence, the sound of the faucet running. He leans his forehead against the doorframe, rattling the knob in another unsuccessful attempt at getting it open. "Would you just open the door? Please? I'm worried about you."

The water turns off. There's a long minute of silence before the door bursts open and he jumps back, surrounded by a cloud of thin blue smoke. Audrey drops her wand to the floor with an unceremonious clatter; Percy can hear it hit the tiles, even if he can't see her yet.

"Thanks," he says as he walks past the swinging door, waving the smoke away as he does so. "Now will you _please_ tell me what the…oh, _hell_ , Audrey…?"

Audrey is sitting on the floor next to the bathtub, a damp towel covering her mouth and her eyes red and puffy, as if she'd been crying. Percy strides over to the tub and sits next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders before asking, "What's going on?"

Audrey moves the towel away from her mouth, revealing the deep cuts her teeth have left from where she broke through the skin. "I'm pregnant," she says softly, turning her gaze away from him to the bloody towel in her hands. "And I think I might need stitches."

He's about to ask her what she's going to be sewing up, and then the words hit him like a bag full of bricks: Pregnant. She's pregnant. His girlfriend is having a baby – _his_ baby – and oh, Merlin's _balls_. He pulls his arm away from her as if he's been burned and nearly falls over in shock.

"Wait… _what?_ "

"I'm pregnant," Audrey repeats, folding the towel over to a clean section and raising it back to her lip. "I'm…I'm pregnant."

"P-pregnant?" he says again. "Like, _pregnant,_ , pregnant?"

Audrey rolls her eyes. "What other kind is there?"

"No! I mean, it's just…um," Percy rubs at the back of his neck, searching for the right words to say. "Are you sure? Did you, ah, did you take the potion?"

"Take a potion? What potion?" Audrey wrinkles her nose. "No, I did the _normal_ thing and I bought a test from the chemists' down the road. That's what all _this_ rubbish is," she says bitterly, kicking at an empty box lying at her feet for emphasis. "I just thought I was sick, or something. Stressed, maybe. I skipped a few periods in Hogwarts 'cause of that. I only bought these stupid things because I thought it'd be a bit of a lark, you know? Just a quick reminder of _'hey, there's a million things you've still got to do this month, but at least you're not knocked up!'_ "

Audrey presses her hands over her eyes, letting out a little scream of frustration before she bursts into tears. Occasionally Percy hears something that resembles actual words, but he's so taken aback by the entire situation that he can't find any way to express it. She cries about only being twenty-five and therefore _not ready_ and about how much she wants her _mum_ and as awful as it is, Percy thinks of Penelope – Penelope, curled on the couch and crying; Penelope, his hands in her hair and bruises all over her body; Penelope, her frail body lost in veritable a sea of blankets; Penelope, quiet and still on a slab at St. Mungo's.

But then Audrey looks up at him, her eyes wide and watery, and Penelope is suddenly the farthest thing from his mind.

He reaches for her gently, carefully, fumbling for her wand with his other hand. "I, I just…it's…we're having a baby, Audrey. We're having a _baby_." He cups her chin in his hand and runs the tip of the wand over the cuts on her mouth, careful to move it in as exact a line as possible. The skin quivers and tightens before the wound closes up, leaving nothing but a faint red mark in its wake. "It's not every day someone tells me I'm going to be a father."

She tries to laugh and it comes out more like a whimper. Percy once again wraps an arm around her shoulders and she rests her head against his chest, sniffling into his shirt as he strokes her hair.

"I'm too young for this. I can barely feed _myself_ , let alone a _baby_ , and I don't, I _don't_ …" She closes her eyes and presses her hand to her mouth, as if simply by doing so she can keep all her bitter feelings from pouring out. "I can't do this by myself."

"Then you won't." His voice is so sure and steady that it surprises him; inside, he's practically rioting with anxiety. Her tears slow, even if they don't stop completely, and Audrey stops trembling beneath his fingers. "You won't," he says again, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "You won't."

 

**XI¾**

 

It is a Saturday afternoon in April when, for the second time, Percy asks Audrey to marry him.

When he proposed to Penelope it was natural; the logical next step to take in their relationship. He made her a nice dinner at his flat and fumbled with the ring when he took the box out of his pocket, but her eyes lit up and she smiled with an intensity he hadn't seen since before she was sent to Azkaban. With Audrey, on the other hand…sometimes, when he really thinks about it, the whole thing feels like a matter of convenience. He has a family, she needs one, and on paper it feels all very simple.

He _wants_ to marry her, though. If you had asked him a year ago – two years ago, five years, ten – he would have said that there was only one woman in the world for him; that Penelope was his first and his last and as far as he was concerned, there would be no other. But things have changed, _he's_ changed, and even though he knows that neither one of them needs a ring or a priest or a piece of paper to tell them that they belong to each other, Percy still wants something solid – something real and tangible, something that can make it actual between them. He wants _her_.

The morning he proposes – again – he finds Audrey sitting at their kitchen table, already buried up to her neck in paperwork at seven o'clock in the morning. She's in one of his blue button-downs and pajama bottoms with a handful of files spread across the table, nearly invisible amidst the number of open books and scribbled-on notepads surrounding her and her breakfast. He doesn't recognize the case, but the one she's reading is slowly being covered by crumbs in-between bites of her cinnamon toast.

"The kettle's on the stove," she says when he walks into the kitchen, right before taking a sip of her juice. "I already set out the mug you like."

"Is that my shirt?"

Audrey shrugs and adds a new notation to the legal pad in front of her. "I think it looks better on me, honestly."

Percy leans against the counter in his pajamas, drinking his tea and watching her work. The wedding-book his mother made to help them plan sits off to the side, precariously close to falling onto the floor, and it is only the frilled edge of the cover that makes it distinguishable from all the other books scattered across the table. He glances out the window over the table at the beautiful day outside, and then turns back to his fiancée.

"You know what? We should get married today."

She highlights something with a marker, and then turns her attention back to her book. "What's that, now?"

"I _said_ , we should get married today."

Audrey sets down the file in her hands and stares at him. "Did you just say what I think you said?" she asks. "Did you just say we should get married, _today?_ "

Casually, Percy nods and takes another sip of his tea. "What do you say?"

Audrey looks at him blankly for a moment, then at the ring on her left hand, and then back at him. "Are you sick?" She pulls herself out of her chair and grasps blindly for her wand, summoning _The Healer's Helpmate_ from the bookshelf in the other room. "Are you feeling feverish, Percy? Nauseous? Dizzy?" Another flick of her wand moves both his tea from his hand and the levitating book to a new page, and Audrey places her free hand against his forehead. "Are you seeing spots or inverted colors at all? Oh, Merlin, did you handle that bullyroot out in the back?"

She reaches for his hands and he grasps her wrists before she can check his palms for scratch marks.

"I'm fine, Davies. I haven't hit my head or inhaled noxious fumes or discovered that I only have an hour to live. Now, are you going to answer my question or not?"  
Audrey scoffs and pulls herself out from his grip. "But do you even know what you're asking me, Weasley? Normal people don't just up and decide to get _married_ one morning," Audrey replies. "Especially not when they already have one planned! We already made an announcement and we've already promised your mother that she could bake our cake, and not to mention the fact we still have to send out our invitations! And even if I did agree to your sudden burst of insanity, you'd have to find a tux or some nice dress robes or something, and I've _long_ passed the point where I could fit into my mother's wedding dress, and –"

"I'm not asking for a wedding, Audrey. I just want to get _married_ ," Percy calmly interrupts, smirking inwardly at the scowl she gives him. "Think about it for a second – is there any real reason why we can't do it today?"

Audrey frowns and leans against the countertop, countering ever pro Percy gives her with a con: they both have stable, well-paying jobs, but she's only just started at the law office of Hocus, Pocus, and Frisby. They've been together for almost two years, but his mother would kill them for not letting her be there. She's almost seven months pregnant with their child, but his mother would kill them for not letting her be there. This would save her from organizing some fancy spectacle for all their friends and relatives, but they've already started planning for a nice, elaborate wedding once the baby is born, and not to mention the fact that _Molly Weasley would probably kill them for not letting her be there_.

"Mum will survive," he says, trying to wrap his arms around her and rolling his eyes when she pushes him away. "All she'll care about is us being happy, Audrey, I'm telling you. Forget everybody else. For once…for once let's just do this and get it done with, huh? Let's cut away the pretense and just be _together_ already."

After a pause that feels like it lasts forever, Audrey lets out a reluctant sigh, but she can't hide her smile when she throws her hands up in the air and says, "Fine! Let's get married today!"

 

(Their wedding photo – which they send with a note to the Burrow in lieu of actually attending Sunday dinner with the rest of the Weasleys – is taken by an Auror they encountered on their way out of the elevator, and is of the two of them standing in front of the fountain in the Ministry's busy Atrium.

Percy is wearing nice pants and his last clean work shirt, while Audrey is wearing a pretty yellow sundress that doesn't hide the swell of her stomach. He doesn't have a tie or a jacket, the only jewelry she's wearing is her engagement ring, and part of the Auror's finger is visible in the upper right hand corner of the picture. There is no veil to remove, no bouquet to toss, and no one else in the frame but them.

Their arms are looped together and they look like the happiest people on Earth.

They are.)


	12. Twelve

**XII**

 

“I have no idea what is going on,” Percy admits as he paces nervously outside Audrey’s room in St. Mungo’s maternity ward, stopping occasionally to look through the little window in the locked door. “They keep shoving me out here and none of them have bothered to tell me why.”

“Maybe it’s because you keep getting in the way?” George says with a shrug. “Somehow I don’t think the Healers appreciate being told that they’re stupid every time they ask you a question about your wife.”

“I did not say that!”

“You launched into a ten-minute rant about how the Healers couldn’t pass their NEWT’s with an open textbook just because they asked you what Audrey’s middle name was.”

Percy makes an odd, groaning noise in the back of his throat, but his eyes never move away from the door to Audrey’s room.

“Look, I’m not sure what you want me to say,” George says, “Maybe I should go and get Dad. He’d know what to do, and he could –”

“No!” Percy clutches at George’s arm. “Stay with me, please? I don’t, I _can’t_ –”

“Okay,” George says quietly, clasping Percy’s shoulder in a comforting way. He smiles at him, then, and for a brief second his eyes cloud over when he looks past Percy’s shoulders. He motions towards the door and Percy turns to find that not only was it open again, but one of the Healers was beckoning him inside. Smiling, George gently pushes him through the door. “Go, Audrey needs you. Good luck, Perce.” He gives him a wink. “I think you’re going to need it.”

“Is everything all right?” Percy asks nervously once he’s passed through the doorway. The Healer continues scribbling on her clipboard and when she finally looks up, there’s a flash of recognition in her eyes but her brow furrows in concentration, like she knows who he is and can’t put his face to a name. Percy, however, knows exactly who this woman is: she’s the same Healer who delivered his and Penelope’s son, all those years ago.

“Everything’s going perfectly, Mister…Weasley,” she says, glancing down at her clipboard for confirmation. The name doesn’t seem to spark a connection, but that’s just as well; she’s been here for years and has delivered thousands of babies. There’s no reason she would remember one she lost. “Don’t worry. If you need anything, just call for Valerie Spinks.” She squeezes his arm in a reassuring manner and sweeps out of the room, lime-green robes billowing in her wake.

“I think it’s getting close,” Audrey says quietly from the bed, drawing him out of his thoughts. “I can’t really tell. I don’t know what they’re saying half the time.” She looks so small, curled up on her side, one hand cradling her stomach and her dark hair stuck to her forehead in sweaty tendrils. Percy goes to her side and kisses her cheek, stroking her hair as she winces in pain.

“Do you want to move around?” he asks, feeling utterly helpless. Audrey shakes her head.

“I’m so _tired_ ,” she whispers. “I don’t think I can move from here.”

Percy sits by her, rubbing her back, wiping her forehead, holding her hand. Healers come in and out, but they’ve stopped shooing him away. Maybe they could see how tightly Audrey held onto his hand and they knew they’d have to break her death grip just to pry him loose…if it wasn’t already broken. He doesn’t know, but he can’t feel his fingers anymore and no one tells him to leave.

Percy whispers words of encouragement until she tells him to shut up, and presses her hand to his lips when she cries out, but mostly he just feels numb and helpless and more than a little out of place. The Healers all seem to know what they’re doing; more than once they move Percy from one side of the bed to the other, and he gives Audrey ice chips when she asks for them and he helps her back into the bed again when she tries and fails to sit upright. And suddenly, there is a frenzied movement and a yelp of pain from Audrey, and the room seems to swarm with people. Audrey moans loudly and before he knows it, Percy is sitting behind his wife, holding her to his chest as Healer Spinks encourages her to push.

When the pink, squalling bundle is placed into her arms, Percy thinks he stops breathing. It isn’t blue. It’s breathing. It’s _breathing_ and it’s _screaming_ and it’s _alive_ , and so is Audrey. Audrey cries as she clutches at the slippery little body and someone thrusts Percy’s wand into his hand, but he doesn’t know who. He’s too busy staring at his newborn child.

“You can cut the cord, Mr. Weasley,” Healer Spinks says, smiling as she lays a hand on his arm. “Just a simple severing charm should do it. Aim close.”  
Percy does as he’s told with a shaky hand and then the baby is whisked away, leaving Percy feeling lost. The Healers congratulate Audrey as they clean her up and the baby is screaming like a banshee as they wrap the tiny body in soft pink blankets. In the middle of it all Percy stands as still as if he’s been petrified, his wand dangling from nearly nerveless fingers and with no idea what to do.

“There’s a lot of anxious people in the waiting room,” one of the Healers says kindly, “Why don’t you go and put them out of their misery? When you come back, your daughter will be ready for you to hold.”

His daughter. He has a _daughter._

“Our baby,” Audrey laughs, and he feels a smile tug at his lips as he leans down to kiss his wife. He can see the tufts of dark red hair on his daughter’s head as the Healers check her over and Percy wants to shout the news to the world. He dashes to the doors and shoulders them open, hurrying down the hallway to the little waiting area at the end. Charlie is pacing with Lily lying asleep on his shoulder and Ron is pulling Al and Rose down from the back of one of the couches. George is sprawled out on one of the hard chairs and Verity, who is so heavily pregnant that she looks as though she could give birth right there, is anxiously watching the hallway. She springs out of her seat when she sees him and when she calls out his name, the room turns as one. George wakes up and stares at him expectantly, and Percy feels the grin spreading across his face before he can stop it, but he doesn’t want to – this is the best feeling in the world.

“I have a daughter,” he says simply, and then George leaps up from his chair only to pick him up and swing him around, whooping loudly as the rest of their family descends upon them. Percy can’t stop laughing, can’t stop grinning, can’t bring himself to contain the excitement he feels in every inch of his body. Healer Spinks practically pulls him back into the room by the collar of his robes, and he’s about to protest because he wants to stay outside with his family, wants to celebrate this joyous occasion with the people he cares about the most, and how _dare_ she interrupt them? But then Spinks nods towards where his wife is sitting in the hospital bed, propped up against pillows and their daughter wailing in her arms, and his mouth goes dry. How could he forget about _this?_

“Would you like to meet your daughter?” Audrey asks, her voice cracked and strained with the effort. She’s crying a little, her nose as red as their little girl – who is still howling as loud as her lungs will let her and filling the room with the noise – and a wide, tired smile spreading across her face.

And by now, Percy isn’t sure if he _remembers_ how to breathe. He walks towards the hospital bed and although he’s done this a thousand times before, nothing could have prepared him for the moment where Audrey places his daughter – his own _child_ – into his arms. Speechless, he stares at the tiny little girl in wonder as she quiets in his arms, looking right back at him with eyes as blue as his own.

“She’s, she’s _beautiful_ ,” he says, his voice sounding far too loud in the newfound silence. “Oh, _Audrey_ , she’s, she’s –”

“I know,” she says, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand and chuckling softly at the way Percy is holding their daughter like she’s going to break in his arms. “But we need to pick a name for her, though. I don’t think we can go through life just calling her ‘she’ all the time.”

“What should we call her, then?” he says as he holds the baby a little tighter to his chest. “We never settled on a name for a girl – all we really decided was on ‘Roger Arthur’ if we had a boy.”

Audrey leans back against the pillow propped up behind her. “Penelope,” she says, her tone soft and final. “Penelope Aileen Weasley has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

He pauses in rocking their daughter and stares at his wife; she stares back, the corners of her mouth quirking up into a tired smile. She knows what she’s doing, and suddenly Percy feels like his knees are going to fall out from under him. He sits on the end of the lumpy hospital bed and the little girl in his arms starts to fuss.

“We…we can’t just call her ‘Penelope,’ Audrey. Aileen’s one thing, but we’d –”

“ _Molly_ , then.” She stifles a yawn with her hand. “Molly, for your mother.”

“People are going to think I’ve monopolized the naming process, you know.”

“So what? It’s our life, isn’t it? She’s our daughter, isn’t she? Let them think what they want. Now give her here and let your family in – your mother’s probably giving some poor candy-striper the talking-to of her life because she’s blocking the door to her grandchild.”

He kisses her forehead and Audrey takes their daughter’s – _Molly’s_ – tiny hand and uses it to wave at him as he backs away from the bed, unwilling to look away even for a moment. He opens the door and motions for his parents and siblings and _their_ families to join him, and as they crowd around his newborn daughter in groups of three and four he can’t help but feel like everything has somehow fallen perfectly into place.

This is his family, and Percy knows that he wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> Formerly "Twelve," originally written in the space between March 2009 and May 2011.


End file.
